mipi 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



if^ — i-l^ 



t-r-t^^- 






UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



"SCRATCHES" 



OF A SURGEON, 



WM. TOD HELMUTH, M.D., 



'And why should this be thought so odd? 

Can't men have taste who cure a phthisic? 
Of Poetry though Patron-God, 

Apollo patronizes physic ! " 



.; _\^ OF tUfvJJ^ 






CHICAGO : 
WM. A. CHATTERTON and COMPANY 

1879. 



1r 






Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1879, by 

WM. A. CHATTERTON and COMPANY, 
In the OfTice of tlie Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



PREFACE. 



Once in a while, when I have been tired with the regular 
routine of professional life, I have turned my mind and pen to 
lighter work, a portion of which is found in this little volume. 

The pieces have all appeared in print, but this is the first time 
they have been collected together. Without, therefore, offering 
any excuse, either for their sentiment or imperfections, I place 
them in the hands of my friends to be valued for exactly what 
they are worth. W. T. H. 

299 Madison Ave., New York, June I, 1879. 



CONTENTS. 



Medical Pomposity, or The Doctor's Dream - - 9 

The Cost of Religion, or The Sinner and His 

Pew, 18 

The Medical Season. 22 

The Widow of "'76." ------- 30 

To A Fashionable Beer-Drinking Doctor. - - 38 

To A Fashionable Obstetrician, - - - - 40 

Some of the Wonders of Modern Surgery. - - 42 

My First Patient. 58 

Surgery vs. Medicine, 65 

Long Branch, 68 

The Sentimental and The Real. - - - - 70 

A Ballad of the Sixteenth Century. - - 73 



6 contents. 

The Charity Ball, - ----- 77 

To T. F. A. 88 

Twenty Years Ago. 90 

A New Year's Carol. 94 

The St. I.ouis Fair. - . - - - 99 

The Grand Easter Celebration of the New 

Collegiate Iustitute. ----- 108 

An Equinoctial Episode. - 113 

A Potent Injunction. 119 




!iii!iiiiioiii^iiiiy'ii!iiiii!iiiiiiiii!ii'iii!iiiiiiiyi'''"^ 



MEDICAL POMPOSITY, OR THE DOCTOR'S 
DREAM. 

" Many of them to get a fee, will give physic to every one that comes, 
/hen there is no cause." — Heurnius. 
" I^on mz'ssura custem, nisi plena cruoris hirudo." 
" The phantasy alone is free, and his commander, reason." — Burton. 



PROLOGUE. 
Oh ! great Apollo, God of Physic, bring 
Thy gracious presence near us while we sing 
In strains that touch that highly favor' d art, 
That first Thou deign'st to erring man impart. 
Fair Juno, too — whose own especial might 
Auspicious proved to sacred marriage rite, 
O'ershade us now, and ere thou glid'st along, 
Drop us one feather to assist our song, 
And other spirits hover near, the while, 
To aid our effort with approving smile, 
While we endeavor in a critic lay 
To sing 'bout doctors of the present day. 

When Shippen'^ first for stipulated fees, 

*One of the first Medical Colleges in this country was organized by Dr. 
Shippen, of Philadelphia. From this grew the venerable University of 
Pennsylvania. The first class consisted of ten students. 



MEDICAL POMPOSITY, 

Taught physic's laws, and gave men their degrees. 
Ten was the number of aspiring youth 
Who anxious thirsted for the streams of truth. 
Scant was their number, scant the knowledge given, 
And scant the patients whom they sent to heaven; 
Scant were the mortals whom they cured of ills, 
And scant the charges in their yearly bills. 
Mankind, in days of yore were not so blest 
With rheums and aches which moderns so infest. 
If ills o'ertook them, they must be endured. 
Or tea of herbs the fretting patient cured. 

That " Iron Age," — reversing things of old. 
Has been converted to an Age of Gold. 
Ten thousand shutters now expose a " tin," 
That tells the world " a Doctor" dwells within; 
While countless boys, whose philanthropic mind 
Burns with desire to benefit mankind, 
Now yearly rush to bow before the shrine 
Where dwell the great of ^sculapian line. 
Pause — pause, ingenuous youth, and let there be 
One gleam of common sense 'mid verdancy; 
Let not a tinsel'd stage, with gaudy glare. 
Allure your footsteps on — you know not where. 
The painted scene looks pleasantly to you, 
By light and shade, and distance of the view. 
Behind 'tis dark, and drear, and damp, and cold. 
The cob-webs thick, the ragged canvas old. 
The beauteous actress is begrimed with paint — 
There's no reality — 'tis all a feint. 
So 'tis with Med'cine. Education's stream 
Once was so bright, that every ladened beam 



OR THE DOCTORS DREAM. II 

Of knowledge shone resplendent far and wide, 
From College provy^s that stemm'd the rippling tide. 
Now, every Doctor mans a separate craft — 
Crowds it with students thick, both fore and aft — 
Becomes a Charon — takes a piece of gold, 
Turns knowledge stream to be the Styx of old, 
Cares for naught else than that the cargo yields. 
And turns to Pluto's realms the Elysian fields. 

Arise ! Tarquinius,^' from the realms so cold. 
Where Nox and Erebus their revels hold. 
Shake off their son's, dull Somnus' sway so drear. 
And with thy former majesty appear. 
Grant us as boon thy dignities' renown. 
While we portray some doctors of the town, 
Whose bearing grave and keenly-glancing eye 
Bear witness to their self-sufficiency. 
Who shake their sapient locks — look -very wise ; 
Smell at their canes and some new plan devise 
To keep the patient ill another day ; 
(Provided, always, that they think he'll pay,) 
Talk of the brain, and nerves proceeding thence, 
More wise appear, the more they distance sense. 
Term pain " neuralgia," or if the man be stout, 
Cry out, " Dear Sir, you have rheumatic gout." 
Tap on the chest — some awful sounds they hear. 
Then satisfied, declare, "The case is clear," 
Draw forth a paper, seize the magic quill. 
And write in mystic signs, " Cathartic pill. '''' 

*Tarquinius, surnamed Surperbus on account of his great p7-ide and dig- 
nity. The same epithet maybe applied to so many in the medical profession, 
that it has been thought proper to awake the spirit of the original Tarquin 



MEDICAL POMPOSITY, 

THE DREAM. 
'Tis midnight, now, and curious thoughts are weaving 

Mysterious spells athwart my dreamy mind. 
Which drowsily is in the distance leaving 

The world, the joys, the follies of mankind. 
And as I ponder o'er the mighty past, 

With ghostly memories my spirits teem ; 
Now forms grotesque are rushing o'er me fast, 

And fairies come to lull me to a dream. 
'Tis not a dream of love, as Dido fain 
Would pray to rest upon her anxious brain, 
When faithless son of old Anchises swore 
Eternal friendship, and then fled her shore. 
Nor such an one as (Enone, whose charms 
Awhile brought faithless Paris to her arms. 
Would raptured wake from and would wailing cry, 
" Many-fountained Ida, hearken ere I die."* 
'Tis not a dream of horror, crime or blood, 
As told of Aram by the poet Hood, 
But one in which all kinds of POTIONS, PILLS, 
Plasters and ointments, and " the thousand ills 
Which flesh is heir to," — and grave doctors, too. 
Come rushing onward to my misty view. 



Hark ! hark ! the sound of royal music comes. 
The trumpets bray, the parchment-headed drums. 
Rattle aloud, time marking with the blow. 
That brainless drummers on their tops bestow. 

■Vide Tennyson's beautiful poem, '• CEnoae." 



OR THE nOCTOR S DREAM. I3 

A youth moves foremost, bearing proud on high 
A torch 

Of " Bark"* and 

" Pitch oe Burgundy,"! 
While in 

" Etherial"^' air 

From founts obscured, 
With golden spouts 

"Ol Terebinth"^ 

Is poured, 
Which ceaseless streaming on the flickering fire, 
Creates new brightness, never to expire. 

Then there appears 

Old Chiron° 

in the van ; 
Medicine's Instructor — partly horse, part man. 
His noble front is bound with leaves of fig; 
His locks anointed with 



* Besides the inflammable qualities of " Bark," as known to the 
Aborigines, the tonic propertieiTof the same have been the chief reliance of 
the disciples of ^sculapius from the period of the deluge, for all kinds of 
weaknesses, especially those of the brain. 

fPz'nus Abies. " It is very adhesive to the skin, and consequently forms 
excellent plasters." — Dunglison. 

:{; Fz<f^ " Ether and Chloroform," by Flag. The combination of Ether, 
Bark and Pitch, would necessarily render a most brilliant light, in the dark- 
ness and mist of many schools of medicine. 

gOil of Turpentine. A great medicine among a certain class of practi- 
tioners. Used especially by the natives of the south for torch-light pro- 
cessions. By the allopaths of the north for the expulsion of worms, and 
by St. Patrick of Ireland, for the demolition of snakes. 

°Chtron — A centaur ; half horse, half man. Supposed to be the first 
professor in a Medical College, occupying the chair of Botany and Medical 
Jurisprudence. 



14 Medical pomposity, 

"Ol. Croton. tig."* 
With vig'rous tail he slays the 

•' Flies "f that tease, 
While imps of '' Sheepskin "^ 
shout 

^' Cantharides." 

His pupil next. 

Great " ^sculapius,"J 
see, 
With grace sublime, he sips strong 

" Catnip Tea." 
His daughter, 

"Hygea,"|| 

near, with tresses loose, 
Divides her time 'twixt 

" Apple Sauce and Goose," 

While 

'' Shining Mercury,"° 

O'erhead doth flit, 

* Croton oil — A new form of pommade. 

\Meloe vescatorius. Retaining such activity after death that they fre- 
quently hasten the same in human subject. 

gThe combination of flies and sheepskin, making an excellent blister to 
draw on the imagination. 

J.iEsculapius read medicine with Chiron, and was a first-rate student. 
His career was brilliant. He had two sons who became doctors, and a 
daughter, who studied medicine in a P'emale Medical College. Vide ut 
sequiter. 

||The Goddess of Hygea and health, partial to digestible articles of diet, 
as sausage, goose, chops and dried beef Is a special patroness of the homoe- 
opathists. 

°Synonim — " Sheet anchor of Allopathy." 



OR THE DOCTOR'S DREAM. 

Bearing his son in arms, 

Pale " Chlorid mit."* 
But oh ! what grace, what dignity is seen 
In " Galen's"! bearing as he moves supreme. 
One mighty arm supports 

" A PAIL OF TIN," 

With 

" Lime" and " Aqua pura,"J 

Mixed within ; 
While on his shoulder rests a 

" Sculptured hod," 
Rich with 

"Six livers from a SINGLE COD."^ 
And thus prepared, he joins, with master art, 
Those structures fair, disease has torn apart. 

"Four patent legs"|| 

A "Flax-seed cushion"^ bear, 
On which there rests 

"A Carbuncle,"|| 

most rare. 



*The scientific appellation for " Calomel." 

f The Apothecaries' sign. Vide " The Poor Gentlemen," and Coxe's 
Epitome. 

JThe combination known to colicky infants and dyspeptic females as 
Lime Water. Scientifically written "Aqua calcis." 

gTo be mixed with three hundred parts of common lard, and labelled 
pure " Cod-Liver oil." Called in the "regular nomenclature, Oleu>n 
iecoris aselli. 

||The two anterior being Selpho's. The posterior known as Palmers. 

§A regular old-fashioned poultice. 

II A gem in surgery, generally best seen on the back of the neck. The 
color is of a most brilliant red, and much appreciated by the wearer. 



l6 MEDICAL POMPOSITY, 

The gem a dragon guards with iron teeth ; 
"Noli me tangere,"-">- 

The motto 'neath. 
In solemn state 

" A Hundred Donkeys " pass, 
Ladened with 

" Tumors well preserved in glass " 
A " Hottentot," with 

"Setons " in his ears, 
Bearing a 

"Gold-topp'd Cane," 

there next appears 

But lords supreme of all who move before. 
The " Heroes" come — the objects we adore; 
A " Carved Sarcophagus," 

Whose pureness vies 
With snow-flakes falling from their home — the skies, 
Their chariot forms, the glowing wheels of BRASS 
Create a deaf 'ning thunder as they pass ; 
While on bright golden thrones, oh ! Doctors, view 
Pomposity personified in you. 



Oh! biped man, how oft thou bring'st the soul, 
Immortal, to the body's foul control. 
That jewel fair, whose far-resplendent ray 
Transforms dark passions' night to glorious day ; 
Whose radiance pure sheds double light around, 

'^Lupus — the wolf— InS' ribod over the cages of the beasts as a matter of 
warning. 



OR THK doctor's DREAM. 

The setting dark, in which the gem is found. 

Whose every flaw, when washed by Conscience's tears, 

Man in the semblance of his God appears. 

We dim that light that ever heavenward tends, 

Subservient render it to worldly ends ; 

By Passion's glass we intercept the beam, 

That, when reflected, with unhealthy gleam, 

Tho' potent still enables us to see, 

To screen from fellow man our obloquy. 



[Note. — Some portions of the above verses were repeated at the banquet 
given by the Homoeopathic physicians of Chicago to the Western Institute of 
Homoeopathy, at its first annual meeting, in May, 1864. Other parts of the 
same poem were, by especial request, recited at Cincinnati, at the enter- 
tainment there provided for the American In'^titute of Homoeopathy, at its 
re-organization in June, 1865. If the attempt .vhich has herein been made 
to satirize that ridiculous pomposity of manner and expression which is 
sometimes assumed by the medical profession, will serve in a measure to 
recall the memory of those pleasant re-unions where the lines were first 
made the property of my professional friends, I shall be amply satisfied, 
and would only request, that this effort, (being rather foreign to the usual 
style in which I have been accustomed to appear in print,) will not be too 
severely criticised.] 




THE COST OF RELIGION, OR THE SINNER 
AND HIS PEW. 

There was once a sinner disgusted with sin, 

Who, resolving a new mode of life to begin, 

Thought the church of all others the place where to learn. 

How virtue to seek and how wickedness spurn ; 

Perplexed in his mind he sought out a friend, 

A vestry-man old, one on whom to depend, 

And was told as an answer to " What shall I do? " 

" Why, purchase and pray in a well- cushioned pew.'" 

He thought it was strange this advice to impart, 
To a sinner who yearned for religion at heart, 
He hop'd to receive wholesome words for reflection, 
To set his mind working in proper direction. 
And therefore inquired with great common sense 
" Can't I get to Heaven without such expense ? " 
" Oh ! no," was the answer, " It never would do " 
" The church is in debt, so you must buy a pew." 

" Supposing," he thought, "I was poor and a sinner, 
No bed to recline on, no breakfast or dinner, 
And fearing in justice the chastening rod, 
How could I in that case propitiate God ? " 
The purchase, however, was made and complete, 



THE COST OF RELIGION. I9 

With carpets and cushions for back and for feet, 

With prayer-books all gilded and hassocks all new, 

And three thousand dollars he paid for his pew. 

The Lord's day came round — on goodness intent 

In meekness of spirit to service he went. 

The prayers and processions were gotten up well, 

The sermon came on — when shameful to tell, 

The sinner received not a word of advice, 

But was meekly informed, that at very low price, 

A lot would be purchased and parsonage too, 

By an extra assessment on everyone's pew. 

The next Sunday came — he sought out his place 
But found it encumbered with satin and lace, 
A chignon, a pannier, a curl he descried, 
With something — perhaps 'twas a woman inside. 
'Twas a queer combination from head to its feet. 
Perfumed with Patchouly, that sat in his seat ; 
Its streamers were gaudy, its overcoat blue, 
With a hump on its back which filled up the pew. 

"Can this be the costume," he thought, " that the fair 
Encumber themselves with, when joining in prayer? 
Are rouge and pomatum and chignons and bends. 
The costume on which one's salvation depends ? 
I've been to the play-house, the concert, the ball, 
I've loitered in many an opera stall. 
But Fashion is queen and obey her all do 
Whether grasping the lorgnon or kneeling in pew." 

So he modestly seated himself in the rear. 
Awaiting in patience a sermon to hear. 



THE COST OF RELIGION. 

That would lift up his soul from the earthy of earth. 
And give to his spirit new life and new birth, 
Would teach him his passions and sins to control, 
To lose the whole world but to save his own soul 
Would teach him the shackels of sin to undo, 
To think of salvation, and not of his pew. 

The sermon began, but 'twas easy to see, 

What the gist of the argument this time would be ; 

The whole congregation most soundly were scored. 

For giving less money than they could aftbrd. 

That all felt uneasy, altho' since last Lent, 

Some twelve thousand dollars were given and spent. 

Then the sinner grew angry and swore it was true 

" That your pocket-book bleeds when you purchase a pew." 

The Sabbath came round and again he repaired 
To his church where of late so badly he'd fared. 
His anger had passed and his sin to abate, 
A greenback of value he dropped in the plate. 
And again he awaited with patience to hear, 
Words of comfort and hope, consolation and cheer. 
But the preacher had come from the isles of Lew-chew 
And was begging the dollars from everyone's pew. 

Then during each week, about each other day. 
Came ladies demanding how much he could pay, 
For books, or a gown, or a surplice, or bands, 
Or to educate children they had on their hands, 
Or to beg his assistance in raffles or fairs, 
(They all asked for money, not one for \\\'~, prayers). 



THE COST OF RELIGION. 

Or to get up a window in crimson and blue, 

In the transept just north of his well-cushioned pew. 

The next Sunday came — he laid long in his bed, 
He loung'd and he smoked and the papers he read, 
He went to his club, they laughed at him there, 

**•?«• -x- * 

And begged he'd inform his immediate friends 
Upon what one's salvation hereafter depends. 
He smiled, and he told them that all they could do 
Was " To purchase and pray in a well-cushioned pew." 




THE MEDICAL SEASON. 

The summer has passed. Those resorts, that a few weeks 
since were so animated and gay, have been metamorphosed into 
cold, cheerless, gloomy and deserted abodes; the sea-shore, 
once so tempting to the dusty and perspiring citizen, has become 
most dismally damp; and the much-lauded "fine country air" 
is converted to a chilling and disagreable atmosphere — in fact, 
their season has passed, and they must wait in their turn until 
it revives. But the wheel of Time is revolving; the spoke that 
moves downwards hastens to return. Another, more inviting, 
has its arc to describe, and then will its self descend. 

To medical gentlemen, the opening season is important. The 
various institutions — whose avowed aim is to impart that instruc- 
tion necessary to the "scientific practice of medicine" — have 
undergone their annual repairs. The innumerable tobacco 
stains, as far as possible, have been scoured from the " lofty 
halls of science." Attractive skeletons, with highly polished 
bones, are suspended in the most frequented apartments. Mal- 
lormations the most hideous, and diseases the most unsightly, 
are arranged with beautiful regularity on the most prominent 
shelves in the museum ; and the highly perfumed and greasy 
dissecting-room — that fills with ghostly horror the mind of the 
novice, but which forms great topic of conversation, and is the 
subject of all the epistles that the second course student writes 
to a distant, though affectionate mamma — has been re-arranged 



THE MEDICAL SEASON. 23 

for the reception of its visitors, whether dead or alive. The 
various utensils are polished to a degree, and the cauldron 
appropriated to various boiling purposes, has been enlivened by 
the artistic touches of the painter. While these busy prepara- 
tions are progressing, our streets are becoming thronged with a 
genus hominurn, which, to the attentive observer, present a 
strange contrast when compared to our ordinary and accustomed 
citizens. With regard to size these individuals appear to exist 
in extremes, and if we could suppose them habited in cassocks 
and hoods, might be aptly described by Campbell's verse — 

" The first was Father Dominick, 
Whose slender form and sallow 
Would scarce have made a candle-wick 
For Boniface's tallow." 

They are either remarkably tall, gaunt, sallow and long-limbed, 
or, on the contrary, short, fat, rubicund and waddling. Their 
coats are either trailing along the ground, or else the tails must 
only have existed in the deluded minds of that " knight of the 
shears" from whose board they came. And as for their inde- 
scribables, each "six-footer" appeal's to have possessed himself 
of those belonging to a comrade not blessed with such lengthy 
extremities ; the pantaloons of the taller flap about the knee 
joints at every step, disclosing his hose (not always remarkable 
for purity of appearance) or boot-tops, in the worn crevices of 
which appear some portion of the distant paternal soil ; while 
at the heel of every shorter aspirant for medical knowledge, a 
somewhat irregular and ragged semi-circle is described, which 
owes its origin to the too close proximity of the pantaloons to 
the street — the truth of which assertion may be easily ascer- 
tained if we examine the grade of color, darker, and much 
resembling the hue of dirt at the bottom, gradually shaded into 
that of the original article of which the garment is constructed. 



24 THE MEDICAL SEASON. 

According to the assertions of certain scientific gentlemen, by 
examining the hair of mummies, their race, and even family 
may be correctly ascertained. We think that the capillary struc- 
ture of those under consideration has also its peculiarity of 
formation. It appears to differ in the two species. In the more 
elongated, it is somewhat dusty in its appearance, and with a 
geometrical precision, stands forth at right-angles — at least that 
portion of it which is visible below the head gear, which invari- 
ably consists of a blue cap, decorated on each side with a gilt 
button. There is generally discernible upon the upper lip of 
these individuals, the primary down of an embryonic moustache. 
The hair of the shorter species is sandy in its character, and not 
confined to the scalp, as it covers the whole physiognomy, with 
the exception of the eyes, ears and nose. Their appearance is 
also greatly improved by the addition of a hat, which, for con- 
venience and economy may be used as a cushion. 

But there are other articles that would of themselves prove 
the identity of this peculiar race, and of which one and all seem 
to be possessed, viz., first, a large and remarkably glittering 
fob-chain, to some portion of which a bright red stone, resem- 
bling in color ordinary sealing-wax, is attached ; second, a 
cane of enormous proportions, black, and ornamented at the top 
with ivory, carved to represent the head or a thigh bone ; third, 
an artificial tumor, situated low down on one side of the face, 
caused by a roll composed of the dried leaves of the nicotiana 
tabactim or "Virginia weed," being retained in the mouth. 

Correctly as we are able, we have endeavored to describe 
students of medicine, all of whom, when they first arrive at this 
renowned city — made sacred to Apollo by the many temples 
dedicated to his peculiar art — are most terribly anxious to pene- 
trate into the mysteries of medicine and its collateral sciences. 



THE MEDICAL SEASON. 25 

They " thirst for blood " ; are eager to subscribe to the first "de- 
funct " mortal that is laid on the table of the dissecting-room; 
and long to know something of those diseases, the concise 
description of which they have seen in the " Domestic Medi- 
cine " at home. At whichever institution they imagine their 
ideas will be most fully realized, to that one they immediately 
attach themselves. 

Posted on the black-board of each medical college, they find 
the order in which those lectui-es, styled " Introductories" are to 
be delivered, and, perhaps, on the margin of the card, a written 
" P. S.," informing all interested in the study of medicine, that 
on the following Saturday, "a surgical clinic will be held at 12 
M., at which time an operation, one of the most interesting in 
surgery, will be performed." It is remarkable what a series of 
cases, requiring the most bloody surgical performances, present 
themselves at this season. There is really ^fatality concerning 
them. Could it be possible they are manufactured? But let 
us suppose the night appointed for the delivery of the first Intro- 
ductory has arrived. Long before the appointed time, crowds 
are around the entrance of the college ; the glittering fob-chains 
are more resplendent than ever ; bear's grease and yellow gloves 
abound ; tobacco is in great demand ; ground-nut shells crackle 
under foot ; and the impatience manifested is only equalled by 
that exhibited by boys in the pit of a dimly-lighted circus, an 
hour before the commencement of the performance. Suddenly 
a carriage comes whirling to the door. A gentleman alights, 
and the clamor of voices subsides as he rapidly approaches. 
About this time it generally happens that some last year's man, 
uncertain of recognition, respectfully touches his hat to the 
" Professor," who, cordially grasping the hand of the now almost 
dumbfounded student, "is delighted to see him again" — inquires 
2— s 



26 THE MEDICAL SEASON. 

particularly after " the family at home " — " has thought of him so 
frequently during the summer," and then with much suaviter in 
modo, the whole multitude within hearing are indiscriminately 
invited to pay a friendly visit on the morrow. By this little ruse, 
repeated ten or a dozen times during the evening, the worthy 
professor pockets no inconsiderable amount of fees, as each 
" friendly visitor" is so overcome by the extreme affability of the 
host, that he feels himself bound to purchase a ticket to relieve 
himself of obligation. But the important hour has arrived; 
the bell wielded by the vigorous arm of the consequential jani- 
tor, sounds loudly through the halls. The students rush to the 
lecture room, and are quickly seated. Those tremendous ivory- 
ornamented logs of ebony, to which the term cane is misapplied, 
are creating, by their quickly-repeated application to the floor of 
the apartment, a noise very similar to that of thunder. The 
act commences : A side door flies open, and with heads erect 
and in stately order, the luminaries of the profession — attended 
always with their satellites — issue from behind the scenes. A 
little in the rear, with a small black covered book placed under 
his arm in the most approved style, is " the lion " of the evening. 
As he is recognized, the thunder from the audience perceptibly 
grows louder. As with easy step he moves toward the rostrum, 
it decreases to a rumbling, which, by the time he has gained the 
platform, is succeeded by a death-like calm. As for the gentle- 
man himself, he is perfectly cool and collected; he opens his 
lecture book, casts an approving and benign smile around the 
apartment, and refreshes himself with a glass of water. After 
having dried his lips with a snow-white pocket-handkerchief, 
and deposited that article in a convenient position by his side, 
with a voice " like the master tones of a rich instrument," he 
pronounces the word, "Gentlemen!" This is enough for the 



THE MEDICAL SEASON. 27 

highly delighted audience, and a peal of thunder testifies their 
approbation. He then proceeds to welcome the young gentle- 
men to the stately halls of science — recognizes old acquaintances, 
and is happy to perceive many new faces in the assemblage — 
then remarks on the many thousands of miles that some have 
travelled to be instructed in the noble art of medicine. He be- 
comes tender and pathetic when he relates the parting between 
the father or mother, sister or brother, [snifling among the audi- 
ence] and, with a happy expression of countenance, makes 
mention of some imaginary female standing on a prominence 
waving her handkerchief to a departing lover. [Tremendous 
and prolonged applause, and the " respected colleagues" in the 
background exchange approving smiles.] If we could but peep 
over the shoulder of this Demosthenes, who excites to such a 
degree the feelings of the young gentlemen present, we would 
perceive that the identical lecture, which is so affecting them, 
was delivered just three years back to just such another class of 
students, and with effect precisely similar; for immediately after 
the sentence which has created so much excitement, there is 
found a large ink blot, intending to place the orator on his 
guard, after which, in small back hand, is written — to prevent 
too rapidly proceeding with the discourse — " Wait for applause, 
then take a drink of water" ; and that, whenever throughout the 
whole lecture, either a gesture or a pause is required to produce 
the desired effect, a similar method is resorted to. After this 
introduction it is taken for granted that no subject would prove 
so interesting to the present audience " as a hasty glance at the 
history of medicine." The following individuals are then intro- 
duced, and each with a stereotyped enconium : ^sculapius, 
who, on account of the benefits conferred on his race, was 
deified by the ancients ; Hippocrates, whose aphorisms should 



28 THE MEDICAL SEASON. 

be deeply studied, by every scientific medical gentleman ; the 
celebrated Arabians, Razes's, Avicenna, in their turn, for the 
one-hundredth-and-ninetieth time, are mentioned ; Galen and 
Celsus are spoken of as men whose astute minds pierced through 
the darkness of superstition, and discerned afar the glimmering 
of truth. It is remarked that the dissoluteness of Paracelsus 
should be partly counterbalanced by the richness of his intellect 
and the profundity of his thought; and the audience are here 
informed, by way of a parenthesis, that this great man deluded 
himself with the idea that he had discovered the much-sought- 
after ^'■Elixir Vitce^'' but, unfortunately, expired at the age of 
forty-eight, with the bottle of his favorite catholicon in his 
pocket; then, with a burst of eloquence in which gratitude and 
admiration predominate, the discoverer of the circulation, the 
immortal Harvey, is made to pass before the minds' eye of the 
admiring audience ; and, after noting how frequently the most 
trivial incidents have led to the greatest results, the following 
sentence is brought in, " For as the falling of the apple revealed 
to the reflecting mind of Newton the immutable law of gravita- 
tion, to the exemption from a loathsome disease of those much 
given to the care and handling of cattle, led the renowned Jen- 
ner to discover the prophylactic virtues of the vaccine virus." 
After having mentioned these ancient upholders of medical 
science, the following bear some resemblance to the concluding 
remarks: "But it is useless, gentlemen, to look so far into 
the gloom of ages, rendered darker by perspective, to observe 
the bright lights in the history of medicine, for in the century 
in which we live, and in our own loved country, the galaxy of 
professional brightness is rendered more resplendently glorious 
by the halo that surrounds the immortal names of a Rush, a 
Mott, a Physic, and a Chapman. And, [gestures with both 



THE MEDICAL SEASON. 



29 



hands, and energetic] is it unreasonable to suppose that some of 
those whom I now have the honor of addressing, may, after 
well-earned reputation in this life, receive their appointed places 
as the brightest stars in the firmament of medicine, whose 
cheering rays will bring comfort to the sick, the heart-broken and 
the dying, and whose unvarying radiance, perceptible throughout 
all ages, will steadily pour forth their floods of light for the 
eternal benefit of the human family ! " 




ir>WvT>TmT/-^ 



THE WIDOW OF '"76." 

Macaulay, in his " Lays of Ancient Rome," has rendered 
into verse some of the most touching incidents connected with 
the history of the " Niobe of Nations." Aytoun has in metre, 
beautiful from its very simplicity, recorded as " Lays to the 
Scottish Cavaliers," many interesting events concerning the 
lowland and highland clans, the Covenanters, the dauntless 
Graeme, Montrose, Bruce, and other renowned heroes of his 
native country, and we find frequently scattered throughout the 
poetry of England, verses celebrating the chivalry of the nation, 
its victories, and the virtues of its most illustrious commanders. 

It is from these facts the more astonishing, that when we turn 
to American literature, we fiud so slight mention among our 
poets, of those historical events which characterize the days of 
the revolution, and this is the more surprising when it is remem- 
bered that, upon a careful perusal of the history embracing the 
period from the commencement of difficulties between this and 
the mother country, to the termination of the war, and the first 
establishment of freedom, we find every sentiment calculated 
to tempt the pen and skill of the poet, whether it be honor, 
truth, or honesty of purpose, bravery, heroism, self-denial or 
love, and these all exhibited in different phases and under 
different circumstances, and of the most genuine and unsophis- 
ticated character. 

But among all these themes, there appears none so surprising 
as the devoted love of liberty which was manifested by the 
women of the period. Vivid perception, strong feelings and 



THE WIDOW OF '"76." 3I 

warm passion, may excite man to the performance of almost 
incredible deeds of valor; but when we find those of the 
gentler sex, although devoted to their homes, their husbands, 
and their children, willingly resigning these, and moreover, 
forsaking their firesides and their domestic duties, to stand un- 
daunted before a well- disciplined army and in the midst of the 
carnage and confusion of battle, ready to minister to the com- 
forts of the sick and dying ; nay, even assiduously and effect- 
ually assisting in the attack and defense; we cannot but be 
struck with the extraordinary and almost unexampled spirit and 
heroism which are worthy to be sung in a lofty and noble strain, 
by the greatest poets of the world. 

There is a touching incident recorded, concerning a widow, 
whose entire support was derived from the exertions of her only 
son, on whom she had centered all that affection known only to 
a mother's heart, but who, when she heard that recruits were 
needed in the army, and that a desperate encounter with the 
enemy was evidently about to take place, willingly resigned the 
love of her boy to that of her country, and sent him forth with 
her prayers and her blessings to the battle of August 27th, 1 776. 
The tale is a simple one, but it is a fair picture of that self- 
sacrificing love of liberty that was so frequently manifested by 
the women of " '76." The story may be told as follows : 

I. 
Night is closing round the hamlet, 

Twilight takes its lingering leave. 
And its dusky hues departing. 

Bring the dim obscure of eve. 
But the humble swain returning, 

From his labor of the day, 



32 THE WIDOW OF " 76." 

Whistles not the note of gladness 

As he homeward bends his way. 
Now the herdsmen drive their cattle 

Silently toward the fold, 
Now they sing no merry carol, 

As they used in times of old. 
II. 
Now the father hastes not onward 

To the little ones at home, 
But converses with his comrade 

In subdued, tho' earnest tone. 
Ever and anon are passing 

Through the quiet village street, 
Men with muskets tightly grasping, 

Gravely bov/ing as they meet. 
III. 
In the furnace of the smithy, 

Tho' 'tis late, the fires glow. 
Hark ! the anvil loud is ringing 

With the oft-repeated blow. 
There the scythe that erst obedient 

To the willing reaper's hand 
Is, alas ! to be converted 

To the warrior's shining brand. 

IV. 

Often through the air are pealing 
Sounds that tell of coming strife, 

Hark ! the drum's tattoo is mingled 
With the screaming of the fife. 

Men in ranks are silent forming, 
Resolute each marching band, 



THE WIDOW OF "'76." ^^ 

Tho' unskilled in battle movement 
Learn with zeal each new command. 

V. 

Wives and mothers at their thresholds, 

Wait the well-known voice to hear, 
Eager watching for the loved one, 

As each foot-fall strikes the ear. 
Some within, tho' silent weeping, 

Steadily their needles ply ; 
Nothing breaking through the stillness. 

Save the half suppressed sigh. 

VI. 

For when morning's dawn is breaking, 

Father, husband, son must go, 
Joining in a deadly conflict, 

With a fierce and powerful foe. 
And when eve once more is stealmg, 

O'er the quiet hamlet, then 
In each house shall one be wanting. 

One it ne'er may know again. 

VII. 

Then the brain will weave its fancies 

Of a soldier's cheerless death, 
No sweet voice to lull the sufferer — 

No one hear his dying breath. 
Or bright hope may gild the picture, 

Battle's din and carnage o'er, 
Crowned with glory by his country 

I/e may gladden Aome once more. 



34 THE WIDOW OF " '76." 



Night advancing, now is shedding 

Tears of dew o'er flower and tree, 
Leaves are rustling as the zephyr 

Plays among them silently. 
Fragrant jasmine buds are opening, 

Spreading round a sweet perfume, 
Trembling stars on high are stealing 

From the night its deeper gloom. 
In the village silence reigning, 

Hushed is all the busy hum. 
Nature over all is ruling ; 

Nature, " beautiful, yet dumb," 

IX. 

Yonder in that little cottage. 

Sits the widow near her son, 
Gazing sadly on the features 

Of her child — her only one. 
Both are motionless and silent — 

Tears the mother's eyes bedim, 
As unbidden thoughts steal o'er her. 

Thoughts that center all in him. 
Yet she rouses from her reverie, 

Dries the tear-drops on her cheeks, 
And in accents sweet though mournful. 

Hark ! the noble mother speaks. 



' Oh ! my darling, on the morrow. 

Thou wilt leave this peaceful vale. 
And beneath thy country's standards 



THE WIDOW OF " '76." 35 

Join to make oppression quail. 
The', my boy, 'twill here be lonely — 

Tho' thy mother's yearning heart 
Almost shall br strained to bursting. 

When the moment bids us part ; 
Tho' my eyes with tears o'er-flowing, 

Plainly shall my sorrow tell, 
Tho', to me, it were a death-blow, 

When thou takes't thy last farewell. 
Still, my child, there is another. 

That must be to thee as near 
As thine own, thy widowed mother. 

Yes, thy country must be dear. 

XI. 

' All my recollections cluster 

Round this dear and hallowed spot; 
Here thy father wooed and won me, 

In my mother's peaceful cot. 
Here, my boy, thy mother bore thee — 

Watched beside thine infant bed ; 
Oft from here have prayers ascended. 

Asking blessings on thy head. 
Here I learnt thy youthful wishes. 

Proudly marked with untold joy, 
Manliness and strength accruing, 

To my own, my noble boy. 
From thine earliest recollection, 

This dear spot must hallowed be ; 
Every pleasure, all thy sorrow. 

Here I shared alike with thee. 



36 THE WIDOW OF " '76." 

XII. 

" Then, shall foeman now advancing, 

Lay this dear old cottage low ? 
Shall they lead thy mother captive ? 

In thine eye I read it, No ! 
Shall our village once so lovely, 

Lie in ashes at our feet? 
Shall the hands of ruthless murder 

Grimly stalk along our street ? 
Proudly now, thy mother marks thee, 

Reads aright that flashing eye, 
Lauds that glowing cheek which tells her, 

That her boy would rather die. 

XIII. 

" Then my darling, on the morrow. 

When thou hear'st the Tolling drum, 
When, 'mid clamor and confusion, 

Rushing on the foemen come — 
When the deaf'ning cannon bursting, 

Spreads destruction far and wide. 
When the wounded and the dying, 

Lie like leaves on every side. 
Draw thy belt around thee tightly. 

Breathe a prayer to God on high ; 
In the thickest of the conflict, 

Fight to conquer or to die. 
XIV. 
" God is with us ; He will succor. 

He will lend His powerful might. 
To the smallness of our number, 



THE WIDOW OF " '76." 37 

In the dreadful coming light. 
He will lead our little army 

By the strength of his right hand, 
Loudly shall the song of triumph 

Ring in echo through the land, 

XV. 

But, my boy, if victory crown thee, 

Let God's love be shown by thee. 
Oh ! be kind, be noble, courteous. 

To your fallen enemy. 
Heap not on the conquered sufferer 

Taunting tones and heartless jeers; 
Sooth the pris'ner, calm the wounded. 

Oh ! have pity on their tears. 
Let thine actions, then, be measured, 

By thy feelings, if 'twere so, 
That thyself were of the vanquish'd, 

And thy conqueror thy foe. 




TO A FASHIONABLE BEER-DRINKING 
DOCTOR. 

But lo ! great Phoebus comes, whose glittering ray 
Proclaims him Doctor and the God of day ; 
Before whose light of medicated lore, 
Stars sink in chaos and are known no more ; 
Whose genial warmth expands green Physic's shoots, 
Spreads wide their foliage, and strikes deep their roots : 
And in whose bearing every eye can trace 
The noble blood of high ancestral race. 

Oh ! ^sculapian Oracle, in thee 
There dwells such self-complacency, 
That with thine actions and thy talk of blood, 
Feeds gaping Gossip with most dainty food. 
If thou woulds't stab black Scandal to the heart, 
Pray let the Muse a friend's advice impart : 
Spare, spare thy parting steeds ; thy Jehu drives 
As though the burden of a thousand lives 
Upon thy shoulders hung. Now, 'tis not so ; 
This shallow ruse was seen thro' long ago. 
When in thy coach, don't with convulsive grasp. 
And ill-feigned weariness the tassels clasp ; 
Relax thy noble brow — leave off that air 
That marks so palpably " old wrinkled Care"; 



TO A FASHIONABLE BEER-DRINKING DOCTOR. 



39 



When thou art waiting in thy patients' halls, 
Rest not, fatigued 'gainst railings and the walls ; 
And pray, when there, restrain that wistful look 
With which thou searchest in thy " tally book." 
Or let the Muse, if still thou wilt not blush, 
Call forth Appelles with his potent brush — 
He, who brought Venus from the azure skies, 
Portrayed her sleeping beauty to our eyes, 
And by the touches of his magic wand 
Sent thunder rolling from a monarch's hand. 




TO A FASHIONABLE OBSTETRICIAN. 

Hold ! hold ! Pegasus — and with courtly air 

Move gently now; we undeceive the fair, 

Whose blushing cheek, and brightly sparkling eye, 

Reads to their doctor their credulity; 

That Galen great, whose understanding wide 

Is ever covered with a French tanned hide ; 

Whose noble forehead, beautifully flat 

Indignant spurns encroachments of the hat ; 

Whose sweet expression and whose kindly smile 

The fairer sex for hours can beguile. 

Will ye believe us, ladies of the " ton," 

When we assure you this is all "put on ? " 

Ye damsels J>asse, who the w^orld have known, 

And at the present forty summers 02au, 

Whose skin old time has painted with gamboge, 

Whose cheek your art has colored with the rouge, 

Think not feign'd youth deceives HIM and rejoice 

When called " (fear child'''' with mild paternal voice. 

And ye, fond parents, check your rising joy 

When whispering told " You have the noblest boy — 

Fine head — black hair — its chubby cheeks like rose— 

Its mother's eyes — its sterner father's nose " ! 

While these same words the doctor utters, he 



TO A FASHIONABLE OBSTETRICIAN. 

Is inward thinking of the coming fee ; 

And in exact proportion to its size, 

Your child is great or small — a fool or wise. 

And would, fair youth, whose course has but begun, 

Shine like the moon by borrowing of the sun. 

Let your preceptor your example be, 

And study well the art Hypocrisy. 

If 'tis too palpable, it will not pass 

For virtue true ; 't must be like purer brass. 

Which, when 'tis polished by experience bold, 

By reputation it may sell for gold. 

Therefore, dear youth, tell every mother, she 

In her fair daughter will remember'd be; 

And every father gladden with the lie 

That in the son, his virtues you descry. 

And if, when passing thro' a decent street. 

Some children playing you should chance to meet, 

(If watch'd by parents thro' the window-pane), 

Pat their "dear heads" — you may a patient gain. 




ll||ifsps?j^^ ^"ijpppifiif 



SOME OF THE WONDERS OF MODERN 
SURGERY* 

There is not one man in a hundred outside of the medical 
profession, and scarcely one man in ten in it, who understands 
and appreciates the marvels of modern surgery. 

The improvements that have, within the past quarter of a 
century, been almost daily introduced into surgical science are 
so numerous, so complex, and so very varied in character, that 
to properly understand them requires entire concentration of 
thought and study. Even in the profession of medicine, unless 
the doctor makes surgery a specialty, unless he devotes his 
whole attention to the subject, unless he carefully reads all the 
best medical literature — and, above all, the periodical literature 
— of the day, he cannot properly estimate the enlightened prac- 
tice of our times, as compared with that of days gone by. 

But things pertaining to the chirurgeon's art which would 
scarcely surprise a tolerably well-educated physician will no 
doubt strike with amazement unprofessional readers; for the 
mind of the former is in a measure prepared for innovations by 
novelties that have preceded them, and has been raised step by 
step from the wretched old-fashioned ideas and antiquated 
notions of our ancestors to those more in accordance with com- 

* Atlantic Monthly. 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 43 

mon sense and human reason; whereas the ideas of the latter 
upon the subject are vague, imperfect and traditional, because 
for the most part foreign to the daily routine of their lives. 

Surgery is very ancient ; it is as old as man. Before disease 
was entailed upon the human race, our great progenitor was 
the subject of an operation. By the influence of some anaes- 
thetic agent, a deep sleep is said to have fallen upon Adam, and 
a bone was excised from his body — a rib was taken away, from 
which grew that beautiful frailty whose name is IVomati, in 
whose gustatory nerves the love of forbidden fruit culminated. 
She took the apple and did eat, and gave it to Adam, and he 
did eat; but the attempt to swallow it so choked him that his 
male descendents still bear in their throats an hereditary projec- 
tion — the po?fmm Ada?ni — the technical term, dear reader, in 
medical nomenclature, by which that hillock in the throat of 
man is known. 

Everybody is acquainted with that celebrated old doctor, 
^sculapius, to whom professors in medical colleges still allude 
in the opening sentences of their introductory lectures. This 
medical gentleman is supposed to have read medicine with 
Apollo and to have been the father of old-fashioned surgery, 
and of two sons, Machaon and Podalirius, both of whom 
Homer, in the twefth book of the Iliad, has seen fit to immor- 
talize. Nestor thus speaks of the former : 

" Ascend thy chariot, haste with speed away, 
And great Machaon to the ships convey ; 
A wise physician, skilled our wounds to heal, 
Is more than armies to the public weal." 

Patroclus was another surgeon of antiquity, and one most 
decidedly of the military order ; his exploits are thus related : 

" There stretched at length the wounded hero lay. 
Patroclus cut theforky steel away ; 



44 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

Then with his hands a bitter root he bruised, 
The wound he washed, the styptic juice infused. 
The closing flesh that instant ceased to glow. 
The wound to torture and the blood to flow." 

After these renowned gentlemen six whole centuries passed 
away, when Hippocrates became the modern surgeon of his 
time, which, you must remember, was about three hundred 
years before Christ. He held it as a maxim, that " where medi- 
cine failed, recourse must be had to the knife, and when the 
knife was unsuccessful, toyf;r." This latter method became 
very fashionable ; and a surgeon's apparatus was a sort of black- 
smith's shop, resembling those that followed our batteries 
through the war. Sores were then burned out with fire ; con- 
flagrations were raised upon the skin ; red-hot irons, shaped 
much like the modern poker, were thrust into the deep recesses 
of wounds ; and the soothing application of boiling tar covered 
bleeding and raw surfaces. A very favorite method of using 
fire with this distinguished individual and others of his school 
was to saturate small pieces of wood with oil, pile them upon 
the surface of the body, and set them ablaze. However, pal- 
mam qui meruit, ferat. Hippocrates assisted surgery consid- 
erably in his time, and his descriptions of certain surgical 
diseases, and of the operations performed for their relief, do him 
great credit. 

It is not the intention of this paper even to begin to consider 
in detail the ancient upholders of the art of surgery, or to relate 
a long catalogue of names and dates ; and therefore suffice it to 
say that surgery improved and retrograded, and was as often 
then as now, impeded in its progress by the bigotry of those 
whose preconceived notions and reverence for bygone forms 
and shades of men, prevented either investigation or adoption of 
important, though often novel truths. 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 45 

In modern times the first great, very great, step forward in 
surgery, was the introduction of what the doctors calt anaesthetic 
agents, or the use of chloroform and ether. A just idea of 
this inestimable boon to suffering humanity cannot be better 
arrived at, than by first imagining one's self in a surgical amphi- 
theatre twenty-five years ago, during an operation — an amputa- 
tion, for instance. Observe the writhing of that human form as 
the keen two-edged knife pierces the quivering flesh ; listen to 
the harsh grating of the surgeon's saw as it separates the living 
bone, and hear those agonizing groans, and shrieks, and prayers 
for mercy ! Then, visit to-day any well-conducted hospital or 
college, and witness a similar operation. The patient is placed 
upon his bed, a handkerchief saturated with the anaesthetic is 
applied to the nostrils, and a slumber steals over him so deep, 
so profound, that not a muscle moves as the knife goes through 
his flesh, not a quiver passes through his frame, not a prayer to 
God or man for help, not a groan escapes him. He wakes 
from his slumber to find himself comfortably arranged in his 
bed, without a single unpleasant sensation of any note, and 
totally unconscious of the operation he has undergone. I can 
recall instances wherein the sufferer has awakened from his 
lethargy, and, looking up with imploring eyes, has asked: '• Are 
you not almost ready to begin?" '■'•Begin? Why, my dear 
sir, the operation is over, is successful, and you will soon be 
well again." I can see now, while I write these lines, the tears 
of gratitude and of hope that slowly trickle do-wn the cheeks of 
the unfortunate victims of disease or accident, and forthwith I 
turn to my big bottle of chloroform (Duncan and Lockhart's 
best Scotch), and take a congratulatory snifl" from pure admira- 
tion, respect, and thankfulness. 

But there are other very great advantages to be derived from 



46 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

these anaesthetics. No surgeon in the olden time could have 
performed these difficult and protracted operations on the living 
body which are, from the frequency of their occurrence now, 
justly considered the triumphs of modern surgery; and simply 
because it would have been uterly impossible for the patient to 
keep himself, or be kept by others, in a quiet position during a 
prolonged and painful dissection, where knives and probes and 
forceps are thrust in and out of gaping and bleeding wounds. 
The human system in most cases would succumb to the shock 
of the prolonged agony, in an operation of two, three, or four 
hours' duration, when every second seems a minute, and every 
minute an hour. 

The two anaesthetic agents which are now most in use among 
surgeons are ether and chloroform — some preferring one, and 
some the other ; others using a compound of both. From time 
immemorial the surgeon's knife has possessed such terror for 
mankind, that many have been the attempts to diminish the tor- 
ture of operations. Even as far back as the thirteenth century 
the idea of /am/^j-j' operations was carefully considered. In a 
curious old surgical treatise by one Theodoric, the recipe is 
found for the preparation of an article called spongia somnifera,. 
which was said to accomplish the desired result. Pliny and 
Dioscorides speak of the mandragore, or mandrake, as being 
steeped in wine to cause insensiblity to pain. 

The discovery of ether as an anaesthetic belongs to America. 
On the 30th day of December, 1846, at No. 19 Tremont Row,, 
in Boston, a man named Frost had a tooth extracted without 
pain by Dr. Morton, and a new era commenced in the surgical 
world. Chloroform belongs to England. On the 4th of 
November, 1847, it was discovered by Sir J. Y. Simpson of 
Edinburgh ; Drs. Keith and Ducan being present at the time. 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 47 

The blessings of the appropriate application of these agents are 
not fully appreciated, because those outside the pale of the pro- 
fession rarely hare time or opportunity to witness the wonderful 
effects produced thereby. Think, dear reader, of a man having 
on his back an excrescence larger than a knapsack, and occupy- 
ing the same position that accoutrement would on the human 
body — a tumor that had bowed his head upon his breast for 
twenty years, and had never permitted him to sleep in any posi- 
tion except lying on his face — a tumor filled with blood-vessels, 
and the growth of which was attended with excruciating pain. 
Think of such a man in the hands of two surgeons — one on 
each side of the table — with their shining knives cutting deeply 
into the flesh — think of him lying thus for three consecutive 
hours, and finding the horrible burden gone when he awoke 
from his insensibility ! 

But modern surgery has opened another field. The fumes of 
chloroform, ether, and nitrous oxide narcotize the brain, and 
sometimes produce dangerous and even fatal results. What does 
modern surgery do to avoid such misfortune ? Simply this ; A 
man with a wen on his ai-m, or an exquisitely painful "felon " 
on his finger, can now look down quietly upon the knife as it 
enters his own body, and smile at a most remarkable coinci- 
dence, and one peculiarly agreeable to himself, namely — he 
does not feel the slightest degree of pain. This condition of 
things is effected by the absence of heat ; otherwise, cold. It 
is well known to everybody, that if a part be frozen or 
benumbed with cold, its sensibility is for the time being lost. 

Now, there are several methods by which cold is produced, 
one of which is evaporation — that mighty process constantly 
going on in the great universe, whereby the waters which have 
passed into the sea are returned to be purified for the use of 



48 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SUR(;ERY. 

man. Evaporation is Nature's colossal filter. The evaporation 
of any liquid which is more volatile than water will immedi- 
ately produce cold. Pour a little common ether on the back of 
your hand, and the sensation of cold is at once apparent ; but 
the chemists tell us that vapors have a greater capacity for heat 
than when their particles are condensed into either a solid or a 
liquid form ; therefore modern surgery, aware of these few facts, 
constructs an instrument whereby a vapor of ether or other ver)' 
volatile substance is injected in the form of spray — or, as the 
doctors say, atomized — upon a part, and so rapidly absorbs the 
heat generated by the chemical action going on within the body, 
that in a veiy few minutes the part becomes entirely insensible 
to pain, while the patient still retains volition and consciousness. 
This evaporation is so potent, that the great Faraday was able 
to freeze mercury in a red-hot crucible. It is not my intention 
to enter into a minute description of the very simple apparatus 
by which this spray is produced. Nature is said to abhor a 
vacuum; and if by any means such a condition is produced in 
a tube one end of which is inserted into a liquid, the atmos- 
pheric pressure from without will cause the liquid to ascend 
into the vacuum; and if as it rises in obedience to nature's law 
it is met with a stream of air projected against it with a mod- 
erate degree of force, the volatile liquid will be broken into 
fragments or atoms, thus constituting a vapor, the rapid evapora- 
tion of which will speedily take away heat. Without the least 
trouble, in any temperature, and at any time of day, the surgeon 
has it in his power, by means of a little instrument he can carry 
in his pocket, of producing cold several degrees below zero. 
It is to Mr. Richardson, of London, that the world is indebted 
for the introduction of this method of causing Z^rrt'/ insensibility 
by means of ether. Dr. Henry J. Bigelow, of Boston, has dis- 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 49 

covered that a similar result may be attained by a substance 
called rhigolene, which is a very volatile product of petroleum, 
and which, with a boiling point at 70°, will, when atomized, 
congeal the skin and the textures beneath in from five to ten 
seconds; 15° below zero being easily produced in a few minutes. 
With such an apparatus (and a great furore it has created in 
the medical world) a man may study anatomy on his own per- 
son, and dissect himself with comparatively trifling incon- 
venience. 

We are told by a well-known and undoubted authority, that 
the rich Miss Kilmansegg once met with a serious accident; 

" But what avails Gold to Miss Kilmansegg, 
When the femoral bone of her dexter leg 
Has met with a compound fracture? " 

asks the historian ; and he further states, that as " the limb was 
doomed, and it could n't be saved," it was cut off, and that after 
its removal there was an immense amount of trouble in fitting 
to the remaining portion of the member any kind of an 
extremity. If the lady had lived in our advanced days, no 
apprehension would have been felt. A letter to one of those 
manufactories where legs and arms — in the shape and motion 
of which Apollo or Venus might exult, and which in nineteen 
cases out of twenty are far more beautiful to look upon than 
nature's own — are turned out to order by steam, would have 
caused to be sent by return train a perfectly suitable leg. 

The very wonderful and perfect mechanism which is intro- 
duced into these patent extremities is only equalled by the 
facility with which they are used. They are light, have all the 
movements of the natural joints, and by means of springs, wires, 
■cords, and wheels, work with a precision which is very surpris- 
ing. Not long since I had the pleasure of being accosted in 



50 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

the Street by a well-dressed soldier, who in nobly doing battle 
for his counti-y had been shot through the knee, the lower parts 
of his leg being so severely shattered that it was necessaiy to 
remove it. The poor fellow had a hard time of it. I did not 
know him to be the same individual whom I had treated in the 
hospital ; the flush of health was upon his cheek, the sparkle of 
life in his eye, the elasticity of manhood in his step. He looked 
first into my face, and then glancing downward, said, with a 
curious twinkle in his eye, " Doctor, which leg is it?" For a 
moment I was dumbfounded with the question, but clapping his 
hand upon his thigh he said with exultation : " This is the leg 
with which I was born, and this one," pointing to the other, 
" is the one which Uncle Sam gave me " ; and he stepped off 
with only a slight halt in his soldier's gate. One of the most 
celebrated of the Bridgewater treatises is that of Sir Charles 
Bell on the human hand. The essay is replete with thought 
and study, and gives the reader a true idea of the mechanism 
and the precision of adaptation which is found in that portion 
of the human body. Paley in his " Natural Theology," allud- 
ing to the same subject, says : " Let a person observe his own 
hand while xvriting ; the number of muscles which are brought 
to bear upon the pen, how the joint and adjusted operation of 
several tendons is concerned in every stroke. Not a letter can 
be turned without more than one or two or three tendinous 
retractions, definite, both as to the choice of the tendon and as 
to the space through which the retraction moves ; yet how cur- 
rently does the work proceed ; how faithful have the muscles 
been to their duty, how true to the order which endeavor or 
habit hath inculcated ! " If we were to take the celebrated sur- 
geon and theological essayest, and show to the one a man sawing 
wood and to the other a person engaged in writing, and were to 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 5 1 

tell them that neither of the industrious individuals was pos- 
sessed of any but wooden hands, which are nightly taken off, 
greased, and prepared for the next day's service, somewhat after 
the fashion of boots and shoes, they most undoubtedly would be 
petrified with amazement, if not completely stunned by an 
apparent impossibility. Yet modern surgery can accomplish 
this result. Let me give some extracts, authenticated ones, from 
letters written to one of the manufacturers of artificial hands. 
One person thus writes : " I am very much pleased with my 
artificial arm and hand. I find it useful in a great many ways. 
I can carry a pail of water with ease. I can carry an armful of 
wood quite handily. I can handle my knife and fork," etc. 
Another says : " I was fitted with a PAIR of artificial hands 
made by I. S. Drake, and I find them of great use to me. I 
can feed myself very well with them ; also can write so it can 
be read," etc. Another writes : " I am getting along finely with 
my artificial hand. I have already learned to sezv with it, and 
can do a great many other things. I find it quite convenient at 
table, and in fact it is useful to me in everything I undertake." 
A gentleman from Providence gives the following testimony : 
" I frequently carry a pail of water, and oftentimes a basket of 
marketing, with my artificial hand. In walking through the 
streets, I defy any one to tell which is my artificial hand." A 
letter from Concord concludes thus: "It" — the hand — " is a 
most convenient thing to drive with. I have driven twenty 
miles in the coldest day, without calling upon my other hand for 
assistance." Is not this an improvement upon the old-fashioned 
iron hook which old surgery affixed to the unfortunate stump of 
a man's superior extremity ? 

There are some operations in surgery that are dangerous on 
account of haemorrhage from the smaller vessels, and others 



52 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

which are performed by means of strangulating a part, allowing 
it to die and be cast off by the law of nature ; the latter pro- 
cedure being necessarily protracted, and often extremely painful. 
A French surgeon, by name Chassaignac, being aware of these 
facts, devised an instrument which he called the ecraseur, or 
crusher, to obviate both the difficulties alluded to. It is formed 
•of a fine chain, gathered into a loop, which loop encloses the 
part to be removed ; by turning a screw the chain is gradually 
tightened until the parts are separated. There is not a cutting 
€dge to this contrivance; the chain is blunt, and in its passage 
through the structures so turns up or twists the ends of the 
blood-vessels that haemorrhage is prevented. The working of 
this instrument is truly surprising. I know of a giid, an amiable 
young lady, who was unfortunate enough to have been born 
with a tongue so much too long that it protruded from her 
mouth from four and a half to five inches ; she could neither 
masticate her food nor articulate a single sentence; life was 
kept in her for nearly fifteen years by liquid nourishment sucked 
through a tube ; her appearance was naturally revolting, and 
upon the slightest exposure to cold or atmospheric changes she 
was well nigh suffocated by the tremendous enlargement of this 
congenital hypertrophy. To cut off this tongue with a sharp 
knife would have been to expose her life to danger from haem- 
orrhage, to twist a string around it, and allow it to die by slow 
degrees, was a torture to which neither her friends nor herself 
would submit ; yet with the application of chloroform and the 
^craseur it was taken away — the superabundant portion of it — 
trimmed to a point; and to-day she sings, talks and eats with 
perfect control of the remaining portion of the organ. She 
went to sleep, and awoke with her jaws closed for the first time 
in her life, and with but the loss of a few drops of blood. 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 53 

The greatest revolutions also have taken place in that branch 
of surgery known as ophthalmology, or that portion of which 
treats of diseases of the eye; indeed, the improvements in this, 
department are so very numerous that it now-a-days constitutes a 
separate and special science. There are few physicians in gen- 
eral practice that understand the orthography of this specialty. 
How do you spell dac-iy-o-cys-to-syringo-ka-ta-klei-sis (dacry- 
ocystosyringokatakleisis) ? would be a puzzle for many wise 
heads, and its pronunciation dangerous to any but a woman's 
tongue. 

The eye — the study of which alone, old Sturmius tells us, is a 
cure for atheism — is perhaps one of the most marvellous con- 
structions in nature. Its movements, its expressions, its protec- 
tion, its chambers, its lenses, and the great delicacy of all its 
component parts, have been the study of anatomists of all times. 
How I wish I could show to the readers of this paper one single 
portion of the human eye — that part called the vitreous humor ! 
It resembles half-molten crystal in its purity and brilliancy. 
And, above all, could I show you the beautiful adaptation of 
every structure to the office it performs in the animal economy, 
you would probably be lost in amazement. Imagine yourself 
for a single moment standing on a mountain eminence, with an 
autumn landscape of twenty miles in extent before you ; every 
constituent which goes to make up the beauty and harmony of 
the scene is fully appreciated by your sense of vision — the great 
variety of color, the fields, the hedges, the foliage, the cottages, 
and the village spire in the distance, the river as it curls around 
the gentle slopes, the clouds that float overhead. That land- 
scape of twenty miles you take in, and are able to see entire 
through an aperture an eighth of an inch in diameter ! 

Is not the smallness of the visual tablet, as compared with the 



54 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

extent of vision, one of the most singular and remarkable adapt- 
ations of means to ends which can be found in nature ? 

There are several compartments and chambers within the 
globe of the eye ; there is a curtain which divides these 
chambers; there is an elastic doorway, which expands and con- 
tracts in accordance with the quantity of light to be admitted. 
Take a candle and endeavor to look into those mysterious 
recesses, and you can see nothing; and the reason is obvious — 
the rays are reflected back again, and are brought to a converg- 
ence at the flame of the candle; in other words, the flame is 
the focus of reflection, and the eye cannot occupy the same posi- 
tion as the flame, nor see through it. But modern surgery has 
explored these hitherto unknown and mysterious regions, and 
has invented an instrument by which the rays of light coming 
from a lamp placed behind and at one side of the head can so 
be caught, reflected, and brought to a focus, that the chambers 
and depths of the globe of the eye can be fully and readily 
explored; and the result has been that this instrument (called 
the ophthalmoscope) tells the surgeon of to-day, that four-fifths 
of what was written and surmised concerning the diseases 
aftecting these hitherto unexplored regions is conjectural and 
wrong; its introduction has rendered obsolete nearly all that 
was taught by our grandfathers on the subject. How many 
eyes have been blinded by treatment based upon conjecture and 
ignorance may only be imagined ; it is well for us that no data 
can be found, and that forever such unsatisfactory information 
will be buried in oblivion. 

The use of reflected light, once introduced, was eagerly applied 
to many other cavities of the body. The intricate labyrinth of 
the ear, and the passages of the nose and the lungs are now 
carefully explored ; the entire wind-pipe can now-a-days be laid 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERX. 55 

before the eye of the surgeon. No doubt, in years to come, the 
obdurate peg in the boot-heel of a patient may be found and 
carefully examined by a combination of lenses inserted in the 
mouth. But I must hasten on. The items that have been 
detailed as relating to the present position of modern surgery 
are a few of innumerable facts. The wonders revealed by the 
microscope alone would fill a volume twice the size of the 
Atlantic Monthly ; and when every week in every medical peri- 
odical some new instrument or new method of treatment is intro- 
duced, to attempt to relate them in a paper of this kind is 
perfectly useless. 

But there is a branch of surgery to which attention should 
undoubtedly be called, and that is what is termed conservative 
surgery. Now the rule of the conservative surgeon is to save 
all he possibly can, and do away with the wholesale cutting and 
slashing of the older masters. In other words, place as much 
in the hands of Nature as is practicable; and it is astounding 
what she can accomplish with gentle handling and persuasive 
treatment! Attack her roughly, interfere with her processes, 
disturb her in her silent and mysterious workings, and she 
retires in disgust. The doctors, as well as the surgeons, are 
beginning to understand this, and the vis fnedicatidx natures is 
being acknowledged by medical as well as by surgical science. 
During the late war, thousands and thousands of limbs were 
saved to their owners by the proper understaiading of conserva- 
tive surgery. One of the most distinguished surgeons of the 
world has lately written : "At King's college it is a rare thing 
to see an amputation ; in tiine cases ont of ten excision should 
be performed in its stead." By excision is understood cutting 
OUT the diseased part instead of cutting off the entire limb. 
Let me explain a little more in detail, that the understanding of 



56 THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 

this important point may be perfectly clear. Suppose a man be 
shot with a minie-ball through the shoulder-joint, and the missile 
shatters the bone to a considerable extent ; old surgery sees no 
resource but to amputate the entire arm ; modern conservative 
surgery says, " Not so," and cuts out the shattered joint, takes 
away the pieces of bone, and leaves the balance to Nature ; and 
she, good soul ! fills up the gap with a substance which, if not 
entirely resembling bone, is still of sufficient firmness and 
strength to allow the patient a tolerable motion at the shoulder, 
and a perfect motion at the elbow, wrist and finger-joints.- I 
can illustrate this conservative surgery by another instance. 
There was once a bright, active boy, whose father was a settler 
in the far-off regions of the western country. The family were 
poor, but hard working, and had gone west to cultivate a small 
portion of land which they had raised money enough to " lo- 
cate." The boy was driving a truck-wagon, drawn by four 
oxen, on which was suspended a huge log of wood. As he 
walked beside his team the chain on his wagon broke, and the 
log rolled over ; he ran, but his leg was caught by the heavy 
wood, and severely crushed — the bones protruding through the 
skin, and the lower part of the leg being" bent and twisted upon 
itself. He was carried senseless to his home ; and there being 
no physician to attend the sufferer, he lay with his crushed and 
mangled leg at right angles with his thigh. Weeks passed 
away ; by degrees Nature assumed her sway ; youth and pre- 
vious health, with a good constitution, sustained the boy under 
the shock. So soon as it was deemed practicable, he was 
brought — in an open wagon without springs, and through a 
drenching rain — to a hospital in the nearest city. There he was 
attacked with typhus fever, and again for weeks his life was 
despaired of. Suddenly one morning — a l)eautiful day in April 



THE WONDERS OF MODERN SURGERY. 57 

— the doctor found his fever gone ; but his patient was ahnost 
dead from the terrible prostration that injury, protracted fever, 
poor attendance, and continued suffering had induced. God in 
his mercy saved him ! Life came back again — strength, hope, 
above all, sleep. That gentle slumber, so different from the 
restless tossings of feverish somnolence, refreshed him ; and he 
began to look into the open air from his hospital window, and 
feel it as with life-giving power it fanned his pale and emaciated 
cheek. But the leg was still in its unnatural position, the bones 
were still through the flesh, the foot twisted sideways on the leg. 
For such a case as this the old-fashioned surgery would have 
had no remedy but amputation of the entire limb ; but modern 
conservative surgery tried another expedient. It sawed off the 
protruding extremities of the bones, twisted the leg to its place, 
put it in an apparatus to keep it the same length as the sound 
limb; and to-day that boy stands, runs, and jumps, with legs of 
equal length — a living monument to conservative surgery, and a 
witness to the truth of the description I have given. 




MY FIRST PATIENT. 

Repeated at the banquet of the American Institute of Homoeopathy, at 
Pittsburgh, and at the Faculty dinner at the Hotel Brunswick, New York. 



What shall I say, when all my friends to-night, 

Have blazed in such a galaxy of light ; 

How can I sing, when all around me here 

Speaks of naught else than Pittsburgh's jovial cheer; 

What shall I do to raise my name to glory, 

With your permission, may I tell a story ? 

'Tis not a story such as doctors tell 

A dying patient, that he'll soon be well, 

If he — all medication being vain — 

Will seek the balmy air of distant plain. 

Or such an one, when on a rainy night, 

The door bell 's rung by some unhappy wight. 

Who cries aloud, " Sir, is the doctor in ? " 

To tell a story then is not a sin. 

This story then, believe me, is a true one, 
And happened to myself some years ago ; 

It therefore is, most certainly a new one, 

I never having mentioned it to friend or foe. 

'Twas when I, fresh from halls of learning. 



MY FISRT PATIENT. 59 

Believed myself a great receptacle of knowledge, 
As most young men, whose eager minds are burning 

With lore all medical, received- at college. 
I thought that I could all diseases cure, 

Could dish out medicines for aches and ills, 
That no one need a single pang endure 

If I stood by with homoeopathic pills. 

It was in Philadelphia, city fair, 

I lectured once and practised physic there. 

Sowed my wild oats, from which, dear me, Tm reaping 

Disastrous fruits, more bitter for their keeping. 

^Twas there a student in long days gone by, 

Those days of pleasant memory, when I 

Heard from dear Matthew's lips, the truths that fell 

Of our great system, which he knew so well. 

Where Gardner taught us on a simple plan, 

" The noblest study of mankind is man," 

Unfolded to our wondering gaze each hour, 

The last great work of God's creative power. 

Go, search your colleges for learned men, 

Who teach anatomy to students eager. 
List well to their instruction and e'en then 

To Gardner's 'twill be commonplace and meagre. 

There gentle Loomis toiled from day to day, 
While swept the golden sands of life away. 
Caught the last twining of the silver cord. 
To pour out knowledge from his ample hoard. 
Ah ! let us pause and drop a silent tear. 
To those fond memories we hold so dear. 



6o MY FIRST PATIENT. 

Let recollection tune our hearts once more, 
To friends departed whom we knew of yore. 

But Williamson and Hemple stand to view, 
And, oh my prophetic soul, MY UNCLE ! too. 

But there were fellow students also there 
Who now have grown in name and reputation. 
Have married ladies who are wondrous fair, 
And done " right nobly," every man his share. 
To medicate the nation. 

I have my eye on one, whom I could name. 

Who'd slip a quiz at any time to go 
And exercise the muscles of his frame. 

By rolling ten-pins in a street below. 
I see another, who on clinic-days would be 

So weary with his labors and so pale. 
That he would fain entice a company 

To feed on oysters and to drink some ale, 
But pshaw ; I see the blushes on these doctor's faces, 
And worse than all ! their ladies make grimaces. 
Therefore, although what I have said is truth, 
I'll not repeat these memories of my youth. 

Well, as I said — excuse my being prosy, 
I'll hurry through this little bit of rhyme, 

The older gentlemen are growing dozy. 
And think I'm wasting very precious time. 

In that same city fair, of which I tell, 
Amid the cares of life there used to dwell 



MY FIRST PATIENT. 6l 

A lady of the far-famed Emerald isle, 
Rheumatic and dj'speptic, full of bile, 
*' Cross as too sticks," and with a temper sour, 
The doctor having tested well the power 
Of senna and of salts, of pills and blisters. 
Salves, plasters, chologogues and clysters. 
To kill or cure her — but had been defeated — 
By strength of constitution being cheated. 
She sent for me in haste to come and see. 
What her condition for a cure might be. 
Dear me ! a patient — what a happy tone 
To have a patient, and one all my own — 
To have a patient and myself be fee'd, 
Raised expectations very high indeed — 
I saw a practice growing from the seed, 

I tried to don a very learned look, 

Placed 'neath my arm a Symptom-Codex book, 

(A fashion which in eastern cities then 

Was followed by most scientific men, 

But which, adopted in New York would be 

Considered proof of insufficiency). 

It was a bitter cold December day, 

And as I tramped the hard and frozen ground, 
The winter wind with icicles at play. 

Strew' d glittering fragments everywhere around. 

I reached the house in expectation rare. 

And found the patient seated on a stool, 
From which she turned a concentrated stare. 

As though I'd been a thief, a knave, or fool. 
I drew my chair quite gently to her side, 



62 MY FIRST PATIENT. 

And to her wrist my finger I applied, 

Counted her pulse, and with a cheerful air, 

Said — quite professionally — " Hem ! quite fair ! " 

In soothing accents then the dame I asked, 

" Will you allow me to inspect your tongue ? " 

She blurted out not liking to be tasked, 

" Arrah ! my darlint, but you'r moighty young — 

I've got a misery in me side, och ! dear, 

Its throubled me for over sixteen year ; 

Cure me o' that, me darling honey, 

Ye'll have a dollar o' the best of money." 

I asked each symptom and observed each look. 

Wrote them " secimdian artem " in my book, 

Talk'd more about her rheums and aches and pains, 

Than Allen's Cyclopsedia contains, 

And then requested as a simple boon. 

That she would bring a tumbler and a spoon. 



There's not a lady or a doctor here 
Who does not know these philosophic facts. 
Which oftentimes are suddenly made clear, 
That heat expands and cold contracts ; 
That if we bring a glass, a jug, or pot 
From freezing temperature to air that's hot, 
Then the attraction called cohesive ceases, 
And ten to one, the glass will split to pieces. 

Now this old lady's crockery was kept 
In a cold hall adjoining where she slept, 
And as she brought the tumbler to her seat. 



MY FIRST PATIENT. 63 

She suddenly exposed it to the heat. 

I drew my tiny vial from its place, 
And counting, dropped — one, two, three, four, 
When suddenly, oh ! most unlucky case. 
The tumbler split, and fell upon the floor. 

The Irish dame grew purple with her ire, 
She started from he seat fornenst the fire, 
Seized with a will the poker from its place, 
And screaming brandished it quite in my face. 

" Out of me house ye mirtheren villain ! 

Is it meself that ye'd be killin ! 

Them pizen drops that burst yon glass in twain 

Would kill me ere they aised me pain. 

Och ! 'tis a mercy that the stuff was spilt 

Afore I was blowed up and kilt." 

How, when, or where I made retreat, 

I do not now remember, 
I found myself far up the street, 

That day in cold December. 

I felt just as I did one day, 

When my young love was jilted ; 
I felt — as western people say — 

Expressive adverb — "wilted." 

But every rose will have its thorn. 

And every thorn its rose. 
There's cob in every ear of corn, 

There's nightmare in the dose. 



64 MY FIRST PATIENT. 

Our lives we know, are all made up 

Of pleasure and of pain ; 
But gall and wormwood in the cup, 

May turn to sweets again. 

And so, what then o'erwhelmed me quite, 

And gave my pride a fall, 
I here with smiles re-hearse to-night 

A little joke — that's all. 




i^ss^^f^^^^\imMi^:^^y*^^^^* 



SURGERY VS. MEDICINE. 

Priority in age and development claimed for the plaintiflf. 

Delivered at the banquet given at Delmonico's to the students and alumni 
of the New York Homoeopathic Medical College, March 8, 1877. 



I am a surgeon, and in making this assertion 

'Tis my apology for doing what I can 
To set aside that undeserved aspersion 

That says, while medicine is quite as old as man, 
Holding within its vast consideration 

All wisdom, learning, ethics, and decorum. 
That surgery is claimed, as is a poor relation. 

Being at best ** the opprobrium niedicorum.''' 

'Tis certainly a subject for humility. 

And one 'tis hardytT doctors to endure, 
That they must own their utter inability 

In many cases to effect a cure ; 
And then, with shrugs and sighs, their patients urge on 

To give themselves their only chance for life 
By calling on the poor, forgotten surgeon. 

Who cuts and cures them with the dreaded knife. 

But as for age, I'll prove 'tis all a libel. 

(The statement 's bold, but I could make it bolder) 
For on no less authority than the Bible 



66 SURGERY VS. MEDICINE. 

I'll prove that surgery is surely older 
Than any form of med'cine whatsoever; 

And having finished, will appeal to the n^ajority 
And have the point adjusted here forever, 

That '■'■surgery in age can claim priority." 

'Tis true the snake aroused the curiosity, 

And gave to Eve the apple fair and bright ; 
She ate, and with a fatal generosity 

Inveigled Adam to a luscious bite. 
That from that time disease and suffering came, 

Doctors were called upon to cure the evil ; 
The art of healing, then, with all its fame, 

Was at the first developed by the Devil. 

Med'cine thus stands coeval with the sinning 

Of mother Eve, fair creature, though quite human, 
While noble surgery had its beginning 

In Paradise BEFORE there was a woman. 
The facts are patent, and we all agree 

'Twas Satan laid on man the direful rod ; 
That doctors are the DeviVs progeny, 

While surgeons come directly dozvn from God !' 

For thus we read (although the analgesia 

Of Richardson was then entirely unknown) 
Adam profoundly slept with anaesthesia. 

And from his thorax was removed a bone. 
This was the first recorded operation, 

(No doctor here dare tell me that I fib ! ) 
And surgery, thus early in creation. 

Can claim complete excision of a rib ! 



SURGERY VS. MEDICINE. 67 

But this is nothing to the obligation 

The world to surgery must ever own, 
When woman, lovliest of the creation. 

Grew and developed from that very bone. 
Then lovesick swains began inditing sonnets, 

And Fashion talked with Folly by the way, 
Then came bulimia for becoming bonnets — 

Hereditary epidemic of to-day. 

Then, too, began those endless loves and frolics 

That poets sing in soft and sweet refrains. 
Doctors grew frantic o'er infantile colics, 

Announced at midnight with angelic strains. 
* * * * 

From this the world was peopled. So Doctors own. 

While you lay claim to such superiority, 
That surgery, 'vs\ the development of bone 

As well as age, can clearly claim priority. 

My task is done, and with my best endeavor 

I have essayed to vindicate my art ; 
So list my friends, ere friendly ties we sever, 

While waning moments bring the hour to part. 
Whatever land, whatever clime may hold you, 

Some time give honor to the bright scalpel. 
And when you recollect what I have told you, 

Remember me — 'tis all I ask. Farewell. 



>'>G<iSi'''i^^ 






'A 



LONG BRANCH. 

(After Campbell.) 

At Long Branch, when the tide is low, 
The sandy beach is white as snow. 
Into the surf the bathers go, 

While the breakers roll in rapidly. 

But Long Branch sees another sight, 
When music sounds at ten at night. 
And myriad lamps, all blazing, light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

In flounce and silk and lace arrayed. 
The finished flirt and matron staid, 
The gouty " Pa " and fierce old maid. 
All join in jealous rivalry. 

Then many hearts in twain are riven, 
And inen and maids to matches driven. 
While Luna brightly shines in heaven, 
On Cupid's fierce artillery. 

Flirtations deepen ! On fair dame 
Who hither to the seaside came. 
With ardent hopes to change your name 
By "going it" so rapidly. 



LONG BRANCH. 



6c> 



But redder yet those cheeks will glow, 
When all your money's gone, " you know. 
And up to Gotham town you go, 
With debts there pressing heavily. 

Ah ! then you'll find its curious fun. 
When every day a pressing dun — 
A furious Frank or fiery Hun — 
Demands his money eagerly. 

Yet when the town 's ablaze with heat. 
Hither we come with hurrying feet, 
And 'tis indeed a glorious treat 
To roll in breakers merrily. 




THE SENTIMENTAL AND THE REAL. 
I. 

LONG AGO — THE SENTIMENTAL, 

See, the moon-beams sweetly breaking, 

O'er the ever restless sea. 
And the waves to memory waking 

Tell a story unto me. 
Tell a tale, ah ! me, a sad one 

In their never ceasing flow, 
Tell a tale of love — a mad one, 

Of the years of long ago. 

Here when quiet stars were beaming. 

O'er the waters of the sea 
Walked a youth and maiden dreaming 

What their future was to be. 
Sweetly, and with perfume laden, 

Came the winds from woodlands low, 
To that dark-eyed youth and maiden. 

In those years so long ago. 

Oh ! those blessed youthful visions. 
Love and truth, and hope and trust. 

Could they stand 'gainst Fate's decisions — 
Never crumble into dust ? 



THE SENTIMENTAL AND THE REAL. 7I 

Could we keep them here forever, 

Could we bid them not to go, 
Then the yearning heart would never 

Pray for years of long ago. 

Where are now those vows then spoken ? 

Where the pressure of the hand ? 
Hark ! the wind is whispering "broken," 

As it stirs the moon-lit sand. 
After years of strife and sorrow, 

Mingled happiness and woe — 
Can we think of joy to-morrow 

As in years so long ago ? 

II. 

LONG AGO — THE REAL. 

I am smoking a quiet cigar 

On the shore just in front of the sea, 
And a happier man by far 

Than ere I expected to be. 
The moon is uncommonly bright, 

The tide is uncommonly low ; 
The tail of a comet's in sight. 

But no tale of love that I know. 

I remember this very same spot. 

And, reader, I'll tell you the reason ; 
Some long years ago, when the hot 

Weather drove people here for a season, 
I came a delighted young man. 

Just green from the lectures of college, 



72 THE SENTIMENRAL AND THE REAL. 

And my thoughts (if I had any) ran, 
On everything else but on knowledge. 

A damsel was here in her " teens," 

I loved her the first time I seen her. 
And though I was verdant as greens, 

I fancy Miss Nancy was greener. 
And here on these very same sands, 

I swore by the moon and the breakers, 
I placed all my love in her hands, 

And therefore I thought I might take hers. 

'Tis funny to look back and see 

How the moon and stars, and the sight 
Of the salty old waves of the sea, 

Put a man in such terrible plight. 
Miss Nancy, she gave me the slip, 

And left me heart-broken to dye 
For another the down on my lip. 

For another fair maiden to sigh. 

And here once again by the ocean, 

I laugh as I see on the shore 
A couple of figures in motion, 

As I and Miss Nancy of yore. 
I bet he is swearing to love her. 

And talking of " heart-strings " and " woe. 
Of "gushing sweet moon-beams above her," 

As I did in times '• long ago." 

MORAL. 

Where ignorance is bliss, etc., etc., etc. 



A BALLAD OF THE SLXTEENTH CENTURY 

A VVARNINGE TO YE STUDENT MEN. 

Up towne there dwelt a student man, 

Tall, straighte and lithe of limbe. 
And a prettie serving maide she dwelt 

Right opposite to him. 

One evening faire ye student man 

Was studying aye so harde. 
He saw ye prettie serving maide 

A-walkinge in ye yard. 

Ye student man, he coughed and spat. 

And coughed and spat againe 
Till one would thinke his chest was sore 

With dreadfule, horrid paine. 

Yet stil ye prettie serving maide 

Walk'd up a-down ye yarde, 
And as she wente she heard ye man 

A-coughing aye so harde. 

At lengthe she raised her shining eyes, 

(Brighte orbs and mightie cleare) 
And shot them at ye student man 

Till he felte wondrous queere. 
5— s 



74 A BALLAD OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY, 

It was ye houre of evening gray, • 

And dusk fell on ye towife 
One railroade car had erst gone up, 

Ye other had gone downe.* 

Ye prettie serving maide one eve 

When mirthful to the brim, 
Up raised her taper finger-tip 

And beckoned unto him. 

Ye student man was tall and straighte, 

And beautiful was he, 
" Awhat it is she wants of me, 

Straightway I mean to see." 

He crossed ye railroade in ye street, 

And entered in ye yarde. 
Ye prettie serving maid — she said 

" Why cough you aye so harde ? " 

Ye student man straighte took her hande, 
He looked straighte in her eye — 

" Because I love you aye so much 
Fain would I for ye die." 

With that ye student man he hugged 

Her bodie all around. 
And kissed he redde and pouting lips 

With heartie smacking sounde. 



* Street railroads in the Sixteenth century is an anachronism readily ex- 
cused bj' poetic license. 



A BALLAD OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 75 

" My prettie serving maide," said he, 

" Now will I make thee mine, 
And you shall feed on strawberries, 

And milke and cake and wine." 

" Now student man," ye maiden said, 

" Wilt make me great and rich ? 
Fain I must tell, for seven long years 

I've gotten bad ye itch." 

Up rose ye gallant student man 

" Now where, oh ! tell me true ? ". 
She held her fingers to ye light 

And scratched them black and blue. 

Ye student man was all a-wroth, 

A mightie oath swore he ; 
And all ye while ye serving maide 

Did laugh with merrie glee. 

"Oh, naughty serving maide," he said, 

" O ! never worse was founde." 
She placed her thumbe upon her nose 

And twirled her fingers rounde. 

Full four weeks time have pass'd, and yet 

Ye student man he laye. 
With sulphur ointment on his limbs 

A-scratching night and day. 

And all night long ye student man 

Sent up one plaintive cry — 
This was ye burthen of ye song, 

" Oh ! give me Sulphur high." 



76 A BALLAD OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 

Ye doctor came and rubbed him up, 
Ye nurse he rubbed him downe, 

Ye serving maide she came and twirled 
Her fingers rounde and rounde. 

And when ye student man arose, 

All worn to bone and skin, 
Ye student men they laugh to think, 

How Sallie took him in. 

But ever and anon at night, 

When sleeping on ye bed, 
Ye night-mare of ye serving maide 

Comes flitting through his head. 

And then ye student man begins 

A scratching, aye so hard, 
And thinks he views ye serving maide 

A walking in ye yarde. 

80 student men take heed of this, 

Ye lesson of ye songe ; 
And if she walketh in ye yarde. 

Why — LET HER WALKE ALONGE. 




THE CHARITY BALL. 



" You may fancy king Charles at some Court Fancy Ball, 
The date you may fix, 
In sixteen sixty-six. 
In the room built by Inigo Jones at Whitehall." — Ingoldsby. 



I went. Oh ! ye muses pray let me recall, 

What I saw, what I learned at the Charity Ball, 

Where beauty and fashion appeared in a body, 

The '■ Real," and the " Mixed," and the absolute Shoddy. 

Where in splendid apparel, man elbows his brother, 

And smiles — oh ! how sweetly, the one on the other. 

Then turns to his neighbor and says with a sneer, 

" Why how under heaven did HE get in here." 

Where beautiful women, with loveliest faces, 

With scarfs, fans, and feathers, and damask and laces ; 

And bracelets and ear-rings, charms, girdles and rings. 

Veils, tiffanies, cuffs, embroideries, pins, 

With diamonds and emeralds and rubies and pearls, 

And ruffles and ribbons and whale-bone and curls — 

Look down from their boxes — each over her fan, 

And passes her comments, on this or that man. 

In the first place you see. 
The A-cad-e-my 
Is a suitable place where a ball ought to be. 



78 THE CHARITY HALL. 

And allow me to say, 

That at this present day, 
Speaking now, in a pure, architectural way, 
That the planning and carving and laying the stones, 
Is a work that is worthy of Inigo Jones. 
(Said Inigo, being an architect true. 
Who flourished in London, 1632). 

The beau-monde for weeks had looked forward to this- 
Their annual period of extatic bliss, 
When Fashion, fair goddess, with dignified grace 
Draws the mantle of " charity " over her face, 
And smiles, as she sees how the great and the gay. 
Shout loudly " hard times," then bow and obey. 
So the talk of the town, 

'Mid the great and the small, 
Was of nothing excepting 
The " Charity Ball." 
The ladies, fair darlings, with long anxious faces. 
Selected their dresses, their ribbons and laces, 
And the thought of their life 

And the chief of their cares, 
Was the dread that another's 
Were finer than theirs. 

Such making of dresses, and ripping of skirts, 
Left many a husband with buttonless shirts. 
And rents in his stockings, enormous to view, 
Audi perhaps, in his inexpressibles, too. 

It was worthy of note. 

How rumors did float — 



THE CHARITY BALL. 79 

"That a man must have frills round the tail of his coat," 

That rich Mrs. Dingdong had sent far away 

For a silk that was trimmed with point applique. 

That Clara had jewels that made Helen's poor, 

And rivaled in brightness the famed Koh-i-noor. 

And the ball-talk I mention, was greater by far — 

Than " Washington topics" or " street rail road war." 

I called one evening on a pretty friend, 
(Before the ball), a pleasant time to spend, 
With one in whose fair veins — if rumor's true — 
The blood of great Plantaganet runs through. 
It therefore being most intensely blue ; 
And hoping to make an agreeable call. 
By way of suggestion 
I first put the'7[uestion, 
And asked her opinion concerning the ball. 

Dear me ! Oh ! dear me ! 

It was gushing to see. 

How she lengthened her face 

Arid turned up her nose, 

Then with fearful grimace. 

Gave a twirl to her clothes. 

Her back-bone grew straight. 

And stiff as could be. 
And "-shoddy ! oh shoddy, oh ! SHODDY " said she. 

She uttered these words, 

With such vindictive tone, 
That I actually dreaded 

To be there alone : 



8o THE CHARITY BALL. 

So meekly I turned up my orbits on high, 
And " What's shoddy? " I asked her by way of reply. 
" Why shoddy " she said, 

" You most ignorant man, 
Is diamonds and dresses. 

The whole of that clan. 
Who've made pt'/c's of green-backs. 

Have money to spend, 
And money to spkn-ge on, 

And money to lend. 
Who love to buy jewels, 

And houses and wine — 
Why there's Mistress X, 

Next neighbor of mine, 
Who three years ago. 

Was as poor as could be, 
Now, see how she dresses, 

Yes^iner than w<?." 

Then I ventured an answer — I said it quite loud, 
" Then shoddy, dear Madam, will show in the crowd ; 
And you'll find in the end, it will happen somehow. 
The world will make shoddy, its stateliest bow. 
And shoddy will^^'-c; to the Charity Ball, 
Enjoying the supper, the dancing and all, 
And shoddy will ride in a carriage so fine. 
And wear the great diamonds, and drink the best wine. 
But if / were going to any such place. 
It would certainly be with the very best grace. 
Secure in position 
By virtue of good. 



THE CHARITY BALL. 8l 



By virtue of blood ; 
Secure of my standing 
'Mong women and men, 
I'd stand among shoddy and gracefully then, 
While I talked to my neighbor, 

Though shoddy he be, 
I 'd feel that poor shoddy 
Could never hurt w^." 
Then the lady arose, pleaded pains in her head. 
Muttered something like " Common," and backed off to bed. 

Not only the great fish. 

But all the " small fry " 
Could talk 'bout the ball, 
Till the subject was dry, 
And I heard one in shrilly, sharp accents exclaim 
" Yes, my ma''s a-going, but dressed very plain, 
For you know in a crowd if you'r splendidly fixed. 
You 'r taken — (ma says so) — for one of the " mixed." 

But if the excitement had run very high, 
It rose to a frenzy, as ball-time drew nigh, 
Many ladies were seen in perpetual run. 
Ascertaining if dresses were soon to be done. 

Every man in the street, 

Whom you happened to meet, 
Carried queer looking bundles, so large and so light 
That single men followed, to peep at the sight. 
And bureaus were toss'd, 

By damsels forlorn, 



82 THE CHARITY BALL. 

For articles lost, 

But yet to be worn ; 
While great Mrs. Thing-a-my, clean as a pin, 
Sat covered with towels tucked under her chin, 
To prevent any stain on her shoulders so fair, 
So finely be-powdered, and painted with care, 

While there, 

In a chair. 
In conspicuous place, 

Was a dress of silk velvet. 

All trimmed with point lace. 

Yes, all things were there, 

But gracious me ! where ? 
Is the artist who promised to do up her hair ! 
Hark ! he comes, a ring at the bell. 
But a horrible story he has to tell. 
The puffs and the curls to wear in her hair, 
Were mashed into nothing by one of the fair, 
Who sat on them ruthlessly, while on a chair, 

And so in despair — 
He had hastily borrowed from one of his shop girls, 
A band and a rat, and an old pair of top-curls. 
And so Mrs. Thing-a-my, went to the ball, 
Lace, flounces, and velvet and top-curls and all. 

If I chose I could tell you of powder and paint. 
Of other things too, that might shock a saint ; 
Of ladies instructing themselves — how to faint. 
Of mothers foreseeing undoubted success, 
As beautiful daughters appeared in " full dress." 
Of fathers (fond parents) predicting, each one, 



THE CHARITY BALL. 83 

The the man, of the ball, would be surely his son, 

Of rouge, and pomatum, and tailors' bills too, 

Which last, if they 're paid — well, that 's nothing to you. 

Let 's look from the boxes without more ado. 

Those charmed and spacious circles 

Are all ablaze with light 
And " Charity" is shedding 

On each a lustrous light ; 

And myriad feet tread lightly 

The garden-bordered floor, 
While lovely eyes beam brigntly 

Throughout each corrider. 

From many a snow-white forehead, 

From many a raven curl, 
The rainbow tints are flashing 

Of diamonds and pearl ; 

Those jeweled rays are shedding 

Their luster far and nigh, 
As stars when night is spreading 

Beams sparkling in the sky; 

And music sweet is stealing 

O'er beauty in its bloom, 
Perhaps, implanting feeling, 

To end — but in the tomb. 

But the crowd is increasing, the couples advance, 
Loud, louder the music ; on, on with the dance. 
See, the cheek, that before as the ball just began 



84 THE CHARITY BALL. 

So striking in paleness, it almost seemed wan, 
Now flushes with pleasure, excitement, or pain. 
Then slowly relapses to pallor again. 
See the light of those eyes, 

That feeling inspire, 
In brightness arise 

And flash unto fire ! 
Then, low words are spoken, 
And fair hands are pressed. 
And many vows broken, 
And heart-aches confess'd. 

In a "musing" mood. 

Alone I stood. 
At the head of the supper room, where 

Unnoticed I gazed, 

Myself quite amazed. 
At the beauty and loveliness there. 

As the splendid throng, 

Moved slowly along, 
An elegant woman pass'd by. 

In silk and in laces, while jewels most rare, 

Though beaming resplendent in light golden hair, 
Could not rival in brightness her eye ; 
She ope'd her fair lips, to her partner to speak. 
And I saw as he answered, a flush on her cheek, 

When somebody near to me said, 
" She 's got four-teen children, perhaps even more, 
Her husband 's a * buster ' and keeps a big store. 
But* now he 's at home and abed." 

Lo, I turned around, 



THE CHARITY BALL. 85 

And there near the ground, 

A queer looking chap in a uniform found, 
I laugh'd, as I ask'd him his name. 

He said, with a whistle, " You know who I am, 

" I belong to the army, my uncle 's called Sam, 
My sister 's a lady called Fame. 

In our family belief 

One item is chief. 
And ' Sam ' says, he dont care who knows it. 
That if you make money by working for him, 
You may go where you like in respectable trim. 

With very few folks to oppose it. 
" But if you make money, and then put on airs, 
Like Tittlebat Titmouse, in dyeing his hairs, 
And puff up your soul and your body. 

Then the really genteel. 

Will soon make you feel. 
The meaning of that word called Shoddy." 

It would take me all time 

To put into rhyme 
All the crash and the crush, and the turmoil and din. 
When the regular-eaters-of-supper came in ; 

Nor can I portray 

The splendid array, 
That the tables presented, not only to eat. 
But whose gorgeous appearance itself was a treat. 

There turkeys were boned. 
And built into towers. 

The tables all groaned 

With fruit and with flowers ; 
But the manner of folding those napkins — dear me ! 



86 THE CHARITY BALL. 

Such gor-ge-ous contortions I never did see. 
And the artist who furnished a work so sublime 
Should be rolled in a napkin and kept for all time. 
There was every dainty the gour?nand could wish, 
The charlotte, the oysters, the coffee, the fish, 
The ice cream, the jelly, the pickles, the cakes, 
The salads, the sauces, the lemons, the grapes, 
And the fruit of all climes, the game of the season ; 

If the epicure there 

Was not suited in fair, 
It was certainly hard to discover the reason. 

Then the Belle of the ball, 

In beauty serene. 
Passed down through the hall, 
And she looked like a Queen ; 
Her eyes shone as purely as twin stars of night. 
Her step tho' 'twas haughty, was gracefully light ; 
While purity's self was enshrined in her face, 
She bow'd her sweet neck with so matchless a grace, 
And so charmingly parted her lips when she smiled. 
The women all envied — the men, they went wild. 
How I wish I dare mention 

This beautiful maid. 
The truth is — I 'm married, 
Therefore, I 'm afraid. 

But time and my language both fail to recall 
That night of the wonderful Charity Ball. 
I care not who went there, they all must confess. 
The management claimed and deserved the success. 
And I think on reflection you '11 easily see, 



THE CHARITY BALL. 87 

That such a result could not otherwise be. 

For first of all, on that eventful night 

What fascinations broke continued on the sight ? 

There garlands, shrubs and plants adorn the floor. 

Sacred one night, at least, to Terpsichore. 

And the rich damask with its circling folds 

In dark'ning shades a magic splendor holds. 

There polished mirrors every where by turns, 

Reflect the flash from every light that burns ; 

Where velvets rich adorned with costly gems 

On noble brows form royal diadems; 

Where graceful women, and brave men pass by, 

These e'n would please the veriest cynic's eye. 

If merry laugh, or sweeter whispers near. 

With strains of music, do not please the eat- — 

There 's but one conclusion to come to, alas. 

That such man 's an egotist — which means, an ass ; 

And if the epicure who carries all his heart, 

In that large recess of a lower part, 

Whose feats of taste can only equal those 

Digestive acts, which all his " feeds" disclose, 

Could not be tempted with the viands rare. 

In many forms, profusely lavished there, 

Then all I can say, 

Be he who he may, 
Let him get up a supper without more delay ; 

But until that is done 

This ball is the one — 
Which 'twill always be pleasant for me to recall. 
Fair Charity's acme — the Charity Ball. 



TO T. F. A. 

WITH A TRAVELING CLOCK. 

This little box I send, 
('Tis all that I am able) 

You '11 find in it a friend, 
To place upon your table. 

Much noise it will not make 
When other sounds are near, 

But if ihe pains you '11 take. 
Its voice you '11 always hear. 

It never, when in health, 
Will tell deliberate lie, 

Although it marks the wealth 
Of moments as they fly. 

It 's sometimes " fast " like men, 
Sometimes a little " slow," 

But like your busy pen, 
Ib ever on the go. 

It has an open face, 

And lives by its precision. 
But in the proper place 

Can speak with much decision. 



TO T. F. A. 



89 



And if you speak it fair, 
('Tis quite a little college) 

No matter when or where, 

It always gives you knowledge. 

It quite ignores the past, 
Is steadfast, firm and true, 

And while the moments last 
It bids you strive and do. 

So may this little toy 

Tick straight unto life's end, 
And till that time, old boy, 

Remember me your friend. 



W. T. H. 




TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

Delivered at the banquet of the American Institute of HomcEopathy, held 
at Philadelphia, 1871. 



Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen : I rise to-night in 
the presence of this august assemblage to lay claim to a new 
relationship. I assert myself to be a step-son of Hahnemann, 
and I believe I shall be able to prove to you the absolute truth 
of my statement. 

In the year 1851, now twenty years ago, I enrolled myself as 
a student of the Homoeopathic Medical College of Pennsylvania. 
She became my Alma Mater, and I one of her most unworthy 
sons. She rendered me every facility for acquiring a good edu- 
cation, and having a large and rapidly increasing family, she 
sent me forth to gain my livelihood, having, however, presented 
me with a document (which I am happy to say I still hold in 
my possession) which, in case of necessity, would prove my 
direct relationship to her. Shortly after this occurrence, and 
for reasons which I could never distinctly understand, and 
which I have never been able to draw from her or any of the 
younger members of the family, she saw fit to change her name, 
(many young ladies, yea, and old ones too, appear to delight in 
similar transformations), and took the name of Hahnemann. 



TWENTY YEARS AGO. 9 1 

Now I would most respectfully inquire, if my mother, being 
free from marital ties, should, with all due legality of form, take 
upon herself the name of a man whom she has openly professed 
to revere and admire for years, would not that man be my step- 
father, and would I not be his step-son ? Therefore, ladies and 
gentlemen, I claim, as I said before, to be a step-son of Hahne- 
mann, and a son of the Homceopathic College of Pennsylvania. 
Being called upon to reply to a sentiment given in her honor, I 
will, with your permission, repeat to you, " The Memories of 
Twenty Years Ago." 



The world moves on ; the years roll slowly by ; 
Youth comes of age ; the aged decay and die ; 
New faces crowd the ever bustling scene, 
And tell to us what we ourselves have been ; 
Our oldest friends grow wrinkled, bald and grey, 
And we, advancing, gi-ow as old as they ; 
Yet, here to-night our thoughts will backward flow, 
And memories rise of — twenty years ago. 

Here, where my Alma Mater proudly rears 

Her noble head, the pride of rolling years. 

Of glory settling on her peaceful brow, 

I stand to offer her my homage now. 

First of her race, who fearless, dared proclaim 

*' Similia^'' in the Master's name ! 

First of the schools that to a skeptic world 

The banner of a mighty truth unfurl' d ! 

I love her yet, and may affection grow, 

Which budded here, just twenty years ago ! 



g2 TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

Ah ! oft, when busy recollection plays 
'Mid by-gone scenes of happy student days, 
What faces rise, familiar to the call, 
What memories all my faculties enthrall, 
What visions of that careless, motley crew 
Who studied medicine, and mischief, too 
Before my mind come flitting to and fro, 
Just as they used to, twenty years ago. 

Where are they now? Why some have risen high 
Aiming their arrows ever at the sky, 
Some were too wayward, and have gone astray, 
Some hold the even tenor of their way ; 
Some are recording an immortal name 
With gilded letters on the scroll of fame ; 
Some have departed hence and lain them low, 
And some remain from twenty years ago. 

Among the dead, the last lamented one 
Whom God call'd home, was W^ alter Williamson. 
Firm at his post, a soldier in the cause. 
Nor age, nor reputation bade him pause ; 
Onward his march in search of golden truth. 
Friend to the aged. Mentor to the youth. 
Ardent and earnest in the paths he trod — 
An honest man — the noblest work of Ciod ! 
He was my friend, and he has told me so. 
E'en when a student — twenty years ago. 

Ah, Alma Mater ! as our hair grows grey. 
And spirits ebbing, gradually portray 



TWENTY YEARS AGO. 93 

The march of years — we honor thee the more, 
Connecting thee with pleasant days of yore. 
I sought thy classic precincts, mother dear, 
I wore thy benches smooth year after year. 
Each tuber ischii has ach'd and borne 
A body weary and a mind forlorn. 
While learning of our human aches and ills, 
Which may be cured and which more surely kills. 
I have heard from reverend lips thy precepts flow, 
And scribbled notes ciirrentc calamo. 
Laughed o'er the dead in " parlors of the sky," 
Carved bone and muscle, nerve and artery, 
"Crammed" for each quiz, applauded with my feet," 
And cut my name upon my chosen seat — 
'Twas the right-hand corner of the second row, 
I cut it there just — twenty years ago. 

These are my sins, O mother ! I avow. 

And ask thy pardon for my foibles now. 

And may I wish thee, in the conjoint name 

( )f all thy children, an immortal fame. 

Thy portals fair may knowledge ever crown. 

May wisdom lend thee glory and renown ; 

Forth from thy gates may truth o'erflow in streams. 

The Sun of Progress lighting with its beams ; 

And as the years roll by we seek in turns 

" That bourne from which no traveler returns," 

And other sons upon our festal days. 

Shall sweetly sing, O Mater ! in thy praise. 

Then may they speak, while wit and wisdom flow. 

Of some who met here, twenty years ago. 



.-^A-^^-V^^^^^^^ 



A NEW YEAR'S CAROL. 

NEW YEARS EVE, 1 86 1. 
Requiescat in pace. 

Step gently ; oh ! speak softly ; 

Count the moments as they pass ; 
For the sands are quickly ebbing 

From Time's uplifted glass ; 
And a silence settles o'er us, 

As we lowly bow the head, 
As the tolling bell announceth 

That another year is dead. * 

Old Father Time is keeping 

The vigil o'er his son ; 
Lo ! the pall around the body 

Is the shroud of Sixty-One. 
See, he bends his head so hoary, 

Turns on us a wistful gaze. 
And with fingers guant and bony 

Points to where the dead one lays, 
And in accents solemn speaketh — 

Oh ! list to what he says : 

"Oh! worm of earth; oh! self- relying mortal, 

Come hither now and look upon this bier; 
Gaze on and think, while yet upon the portal 



A NEW year's carol. 95 

Of yet another swiftly-rolling year, 
How many hopes lie buried 'neath that shroud ! 

How many expectations crushed and slighted! 
How many hearts with life and health so proud 

Have known each ho'pe deferred, each prospect blighted. 
This rolling orb, on which awhile thou liveth, 

Is but the smallest of unnumbered spheres, 
Whose silent, yet majestic, movement giveth 

Sublimest anthems for Almighty ears. 
And thou art one, among the millions striving, 

To live the time allotted them on earth. 
How small thou art — not even worth despising 

By that eternal power that gave thee birth. 

" And yet, each thought, each shadow of conception, 

Before 'twas half developed by thy brain. 
Sank deep into eternal recollection — 

'Gainst which forgetfulness will sue in vain. 
Remember then, another year is given 

To thee by that great God whose wondrous power 
Made all the universe, and with it Heaven, 

To be for man an everlasting dower. 

*' My hour is past — the lonesome night is waning, 

I must depart to bear away the year ; 
Go on thy way ; work, toil without complaining ; 

I shall return, but thou may'st not be here." 

Thus with words of solemn warning. 

Time vanished into air ; 
He bore the old year with him, 

And left the New Year there ; 



96 A NEW year's carol. 

I woke — the bells were ringing, 

Sweet words broke on my ear; 
I heard dear voices whisper, 

" To all a happy Year." 
A happy, happy New Year, 

May each fleeting day unfold 
A thousand joys and pleasures 

To the young and to the old. 
I see the mother clasping 

Her infant to her breast, 
And she prayeth, as the darling 

Sinks sweetly to its rest, 
That many happy New Years 

May yet to it be given 
On earth while yet it liveth, 

If dead, with God in heaven. 
I see the maiden's blushes, 

As the murmurs reach her ear 
Of her lover, as he whispers 

To her a happy year. 
I behold the sire aged 

Pour blessings on his son, 
I see a smile of gladness 

Around on every one. 

But a vision stealeth o'er me 
From out the misty past, 

A spectre spirit cometh 

With the howling of the blast; 

A sight it is of horror. 

The terror known to dreams, 



A NEW YEAR S CAROL. 97 

I hear the roar of cannon, 

With dying groans and screams. 
The sky is dark and lurid, 

The thunder rattles loud, 
And drops of blood seem oozing. 

From the blackness of the cloud. 
I hear the wail of mothers, 

The sobs of maidens fair, 
The cry of orphan children 

Float heavy on the air; 
The earth it quakes and trembles, 

My soul sinks down with fear, 
The God of War is passing 

This morning of the year. 

But the New Year poniteth upward, 

And gleaming from afar. 
There spreads the radiant luster 

Of a bright and brilliant star. 
The darkness yields before it, 

The silver of its rays 
Disperses clouds and darkness 

With the light of other days. 
And as the brightness spreadeth, 

A glorious anthem rings, 
As a mighty eagle cometh 

With the sound of rushing wings. 
And a snow-white dove of heaven 

Bids war and tumult cease — 
Upholding o'er our country 

The olive branch of peace. 



98 



A NEW year's carol. 

And the chorus of the angels 
Follows in her shining tracks — 

"Gloria in excelsis — 
Et in terra pax. '' 

Oh, gracious God in heaven 
Grant Thou that this may be, 

And give again our country- 
Peace and prosperity. 




THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 

" Amor, voluptas, venus, guadiam 

Jocus, ludus, sermo suavis, suavatio." — Plant Bacch. 



Oh ! dear, I am tired, do bring me a chair 

And the Muse she shall sing of the St. Louis Fair. 

But pardon me, reader, you must not suppose 

That allusion is made in these verses to those, 

Who at present delight to wear hoops in their clothes ; 

Whose eyes beam like stars, whose cheeks are like roses, 

With acquiline, Grecian or turn-up-y noses ; 

Who have sought thro' the earth, the ocean, the air. 

Those articles which they suppose make the fair. 

T wish not to speak of these beauties, oh ! no, 

I sing you the great Agricultural Show. 

I 'm a very plain man and a bachelor, too, 
A.nd regarding the sex, I believe it is true. 
That distance enhances the objects we view. 
I 'm afraid of my life when the fair ones are seen, 
Deck'd off — see above — then add crinoline ; 
And am always quite sure to cross over the street, 
For I dread a collision, no matter how sweet. 
Faust first saw a maiden, then loved her and so 



)0 THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 

Sold his soul to the Devil to get her you know ; 

And mighty Marc Antony gave up his throne 

To call Cleopatra " his darling," " his own." 

The beauty of Helen, renowned near and far 

Gave rise to a bloody, continuous war. 

Old Pluto himself left his smoky domain, 

That he might the fair hand of young Porsepine gain. 

And the Chief who let Jael bewilder his brains, 

Received a large spike thro' his skull for his pains. 

These are all of them facts, somewhat old though they be, 

But enough, in all conscience, to terrify me. 

For the times have grown worse ; now each young lady flirts, 

And a " miss is as good as a mile" (round the skirts). 

But hold ! my Pegasus is running away, 

E'en the thought of the ladies can lead one astray. 

Our carnival week opened brightly and clear. 

Not a cloud in the azure was seen far or near, 

And when sweetly the morn, with her roseate streaks, 

Like the first blush of love on the fair maiden's cheek, 

Drove back the night from the clear, mild blue sky. 

And silently smiled on all things far and nigh. 

The city began to arouse from its gloom. 

And a holiday aspect at once to assume. 

First came the occasional foot-fall of those 

Who are bragging all day of the tyne they arose, 

Who tell you of sleeping the horrible danger, 

I then always think of " the dog in the manger," 

The hum is increasing, more men, ragged boys, 

Are shouting, hallooing, and making a noise. 

The soldiers appear dress'd in red, blue and green, 

And soul-stirring music enlivens the scene. 



THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 1 

The crowd still increases — more persons arrive, 
And the streets of St. Louis at length seem alive. 
There are Germans, and Frenchmen, and Irish, and those 
Who we read of as dealing in second-hand clothes, 
Who keep little shops, where three balls are hung out. 
Where the patrons that enter look queer, and cry "spout," 
And dear little boys, who chew balsam and frolic, 
And women with babies, poor things, with the colic, 
And men with moustaches, and men looking grave, 
And youngsters who go to Glamorgan's to shave; 
And Doctors ! Oh dear, the poor patients I pity, 
And lawyers not thinking of Blackstone or Ghitty, 
And darkies and dandies and children in pairs. 
And gentlemen, too, who " take sugar in theirs." 
And thousands of others forgetting their care. 
All, all of them bent upon seeing the/«?>. 

We caught the infection and searched for a hack. 
Wherein we could ride to the Fair ground and back. 
But we might just as well have looked for the moon, 
And probably then would have found it as soon. 
For every conveyance from buggy to cart 
Was crammed full of people all anxious to start ; 
Every man whom you met was in terrible haste 
And had not a moment of time he could waste. 
One would think that some fatal disorder was rife. 
And the people were fleeing the town for their life. 
But we had not proceeded up street very far 
When we met with a nondescript kind of a car — 
Between wagon and stage coach a kind of a cross. 
And drawn by a mule, and a frame of a " boss." 



)2 THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 

We blessed our good fortune, were soon in our place, 
Our team started off at an elegant pace, 
And our Jehu he shouted to show us his wits 
" It^s/air that the /are to the /'air be two bits." 

We planked up the money, each one of our load, 

And our party so merry were soon on the road ; 

But we had not gone far when we came to a stand 

And I thought that the end of the world was at hand. 

I had learnt, when a child, and read when a youth, 

And heard when at college this undoubted truth. 

That the species called human was made up of dust, 

And that to it return we most certainly must. 

And the thought flashed across me if such be the case, 

Then my metamorphose was then taking place. 

My hair was all dust, all dust were my clothes. 

There was dust in my mouth, and dust in my nose, 

And dust in my ears, and dust in my eyes. 

Till I thought, as a dustman, I might take a prize; 

Yet our fears were quite groundless, although so much ground 

On ourselves, in the coach, in the air could be found; 

So we touched up (quite gently) our spirited pair, 

And soon we arrived at outside the Fair. 

But here we must stop for a moment or two, 

Such wonderful sights there burst on our view — 

Of vehicles, horses, and men such a throng 

'Twas with imminent danger we just crept along. 

There were "busses" and coaches and carts and coupes. 

And ice-carts and coal-carts, and wagons and drays, 

And buggies and sulkies and chaises there too. 

Painted red, white, and yellow, and orange, and blue, 



THE ST. LOUIS FAIR, IO3 

And booths all around for refreshment and knowledge, 

Indeed, you might learn there as much as at college. 

Here were dainties that tempted the palate and eye. 

From sausages hot to the cold mutton pie. 

And oysters and melons, sardines and pigs feet. 

And dishes of tripe and of dubious meat 

Were served in a moment remarkably tine, 

And regally here for a bit you could dine. 

But, oh ! how much better than all these combined 

Was pabulum rich for refreshment of mind ; 

Here the great physiologists. Carpenter, Bowman, 

Were outdone in toto by one of the showmen. 

Who would tell the conditions of bodies in mass, 

If ^ow first paid a dime, then blew in a glass ; 

Paracelsus supposed he discovered one day 

A catholicon termed the elixir vitos. 

But that was mere nothing, completely a sham, 

When compared to the Compound — Samaritan-Balm. 

A telescope too, was drawn by eight horses, 

Superior far to that one of Lord Rosse's; 

And through lenses convex and plano-concave, 

Vou could see how the sexes in Saturn behave. 

A philologist, too, we found pretty and young, 

Who beat Mezzofanti in using her tongue ; 

Indeed, the old father to her was a dunce. 

For she spoke all known languages well, attd at once. 

There were adipose women, elongated men, 

A cow with six legs, a thirty-pound wen, 

A Samson, a drummer, a man with the scales, 

And boa constrictors, and jugglers, and whales; 

Arabia's phoenix was here in its glory, 



I04 THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 

And pelicans famed in Egyptian story, 

And monsters, and mermaids, and fishes, and horses, 

(Vide Jordamus Brunus' quaint learn' d discourses). 

In fact, here were lessons to learn in geology, 

Conchology, too, and rare paleology. 

The inquiring mind could study all there 

In that great university outside the Fair. 

But come, we must enter the grounds for 'tis late, 

We paid down the quarter and entered the gate. 

I stood in amaze, what a beautiful sight ! 

I smiled as I gazed and I gazed in delight ; 

The grass was so green, the sunshine so bright, 

So fantastic the clouds, so gorgeous the light ; 

The air was so placid, the fountains so clear, 

The thousands all decked in their holiday gear, 

With the strains of sweet music that broke on the ear, 

Were imposing indeed — I might almost say grand, 

And we thought of Queen Mab and her dear fairy band. 

Then we came to that spacious arena and found 

More than ten thousand persons were sitting around, 

All smiling and happy and eager to see 

What the next noble work of fair Nature would be. 

There were draught horses, match horses, thoroughbred steeds, 

Of Jennets and jacks, and roadsters all breeds, 

And stallions and geldings and ponies and mares, 

And fast single horses, and trotters in pairs ; 

And all kinds of oxen, and all kinds of cows, 

Of sheep and of goats, little piggies with sows, 

And chickens and turkies and game cocks and geese. 

And Spanish Merinoes with wonderful fleece ; 

Indeed, if with Goldsmith and Buffon to aid us, 



THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. IO5 

We could not enumerate all if you paid us. 
So we looked for the Fine Art Department, and came 
To a hall that can. only be called so by nmne. 
Yes indeed, we are sorry to say it, but there 
Was the one imperfection we found at the Fair. 
Oh ! shades of Apelles and Guido appear, 
Micheel Angelo, Titian ye also draw near, ^ 
And look if ye can, without dying once more 
On those so-called paintings we place you before. 
There were some good paintings, but most I remark, 
Would look a deal better if seen in the dark ; 
And others there were that I think I could name. 
That were not as beautiful half, as the frame. 
The place was too cramped, too restricted the view, 
For while seeing a painting my nose stuck thereto. 
Oh ! do let us try to encourage that art 
That soothes the proud spirit and opens the heart. 
Next we sauntering looked for that tempting resort 
Where Ceres with Flora hold beautiful court ; 
We discovered the spot, and it was, I declare. 
Most decideely_/azrj/ of all the Fair; 
And Fortune allowed us to be there alone. 
Which fact of itself I must candidly own, 
Permitted reflection to have its full sway, 
And gave to the sense of beautiful, play. 
The light was subdued, so soft was the ground, 
Tne fountains were plashing with musical sound, 
There were grottoes of moss, and fairy-like bowers. 
Enameled with Nature's most beautiful flowei's ; 
The grapes hung in clusters and gracefully there 
7— s 



I06 THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. 

Lay the peach and the apple, the rich, luscious pear. 

Some hanging on high, some shrinking from view, 

All blushing to be so admired by you. 

Of the natural sympathies placed in the breast, 

That one of the beautiful leads all the rest ; 

And we should not, as some do, encourage the thought 

That this exquisite sense was implanted for naught. 

Oh ! no, for with due cultivation we find, 

It enlivens the soul and invigorates mind ; 

And to study fair Nature, so sweet, yet so strange, 

Is to study creation, so wide is the range. 

Who would not admire the splendors that shine 

In the west, as the bright orb of day does decline ? 

Or be fill'd with glad thoughts at the clouds as they play, 

In magnificent wreaths on an autumnal day ? 

Or delight in the foliage that hangs on the trees, 

As kiss'd by the sunshine or fanned by the breeze. 

What mind is among us, so sordid and cold. 

That would not be touched as the beauties unfold, 

Of mountains and waters so chaste and serene, 

As in Nature's domain are so frequently seen ? 

Delightful to every corporeal sense 

Are these the deep symbols of significance 

Which the painter enraptured on canvas defines, 

Which poets inspired have sung in all climes ; 

Then let us encourage with heart, soul and mind 

The Fair where both Nature and Art are combined. 



But hold on, Miss Muse, you are flying the track, 
Go back to your canter, old lady, go back ! 



THE ST. LOUIS FAIR. I07 

You may talk of New York, with its halls and hotels, 

With Taylors and Stewarts, its beaux and its belles, 

With thousands like " Flora" with "nothing to wear," 

And the snobs who assist at that " Vanity Fair," 

With the infinite number with " nothing to do," 

And the Firkins who gloat o'er a million or two, 

And who live in brown stone on Fifth Avenue ; 

Or go further south where the " thee " and the " thou " 

Of the Quaker are growing quite obsolete now ; 

Where the streets are §0 clean, and the doox;-steps all shine. 

Where the girls are so charming, nay, almost divine ; 

Where the markets are really a sight to behold, 

And the butter-tub hoops are resplendent as gold ; 

Where on Saturday morning with bucket and hose, 

A man is besprinkled wherever he goes. 

Or still farther go, where fair Baltimore stands 

And rears her high head on the Chesapeake sands. 

Where her monuments proudly rise high in the air, 

But there 's nothing- in these like the St. Louis Fair. 




THE GRAND EASTER CELEBRATION OF THE NEW 
COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE. 

THE PAGEANT, THE SUPPER, AND THE POET. 

This city is fast becoming the literary depot of the valley of 
the Mississippi. Hither are flocking erudite scholars from the 
four quarters of the globe ; a fact Avhich is naturally to be ex- 
pected when it is remembered that the practical is and ever has 
been the desideratum of our inhabitants. The actual, Avhen 
conceived by the intellect, gives us science, and the actual, when 
conceived by the imagination, gives us ART : therefore, by a 
proper course of reasoning we can arrive at an explanation of 
the fact that the educational facilities afforded in all branches, 
both of science and art, are being rapidly and steadily exhausted 
in this city. The philosophic German, the polite Frenchman, 
and the musical Italian, all find a home in our midst, and new 
collegiate institutions are daily springing into existence with all 
the vigor that educated genius and well-directed talent can im- 
part. The new college, whose auspices I am about to recount, 
and of which I am Dean, is no doubt the best literary insti- 
tution on the western continent, or if it is not, in the language 
of the celebrated T. Percy Jones, in his " Spasmodic Tragedy" : 
" I should like anyone to show me a better." 

The truth of this assertion is fully demonstrated l^y my own 
appointment, Ex toio disce omnes. My first duty, therefore, to 



THE GRAND EASTER CELEBRATION. IO9 

myself and to my countrymen, is to announce to the public the 
Easter celebration of our first anniversary, and I have taken the 
liberty of performing this charitable act, through the columns of 
your paper. The commencement took place on Easter Tues- 
day. The procession was as follows : 

Music. 

The Mare of the city supporting the Head o^ the Institution. 

Constituents composing the Iwdy of the same. 

The linguists conversing in high Dutch. 

The Elephants from Van Amburg's Show, (an emblematic figure which 

the students are expected to see in after life.) 

The Senior Class — composed of one. 

A log from Minnesota from which we expect a good and serviceable board. 

The Junior Class. 
Busts of various proportions, upon which our Art classes are often and 

vigorously employed. 

The Spirits to be invoked for the consummation of a bust — hogsheads, etc. 

The Professor of Drawing engaged upon a tremendous " bust." 

The Sophomore Class — with black eyes. 

Music — By the Band of Brothers. 

The black board of the College. (Consisting of the cook, steward, and 

house servant.) 

The Fresh-men. 

An emblematic figure of ancient times — partly fossilized — viz. ; The police- 

who was seen on his beat after 12 o'clock at night. 

A mereschaum, on a dray. 

The Fine Art Class intending to color the same. 

The " baize" (bays) wherewith to wreathe the forehead of our poet. 

The Poet of St. Louis. 

Vi et ariJiis. 

Carriages. 

Creating considerable excitement we passed through the 
principal thoroughfares of the city to the Banquet Hall, where a 
most luxurious repast was prepared for us, and after the usual 
time devoted to gastronomical exercises, the following toasts 
were proposed. First by myself as being superior, and striking 
at the very derivation of the usual "day we celebrate," viz: 

Yeast. 

This was responded to by the Professor of German, who 
supposed allusion Avas made to beer, but who was made to 



no THE GREAT EASTER CELEBRATION. 

understand his mistake by our philologist, who, to the better en- 
lightenment of the more obtuse, used the same term in the com- 
parative : 

Yeaster (Easter.) 

The Secretary, after a short enconium upon the State of Mis- 
souri, offered the following, to be drunk in silence : 

The American Eagle. 

This sentiment was responded to by our taxidermist, and a 
most elaborate discourse on the stuffing of birds was listened to 
with the most minute attention. After many scientific remarks, 
we are to conclude that bread, potatoes, sage, pepper and salt, 
are the ingredients which are to be the most relied upon by gen- 
tlemen of scientific acquirements in the preparation of many of 
the most beautiful specimens of the winged creation. Time, 
however, will not allow us to enter into a description of the 
beautiful sentiments that were offered; but late in the evening, 
our poet, after having been crowned with the beautiful green 
baize, addressed himself to the different business and professional 
men, in the following strains. Betweed the stanzas, the cele- 
brated harp of a thousand strings, discoursed sweet music : 

Decked with the crown that Virgils soul inspired, 

That Horace loved and Ovid so admired, 

I sing to men professional and lay, 

And crave you attention to what I am about to remark. 

So, bankers, when you count yowr gains, 

Lay by a small amount, 
For then with little extra pains 

You'll find yoxir gains will count. 



THE GREAT EASTER CELEBRATION. 1 1 I 

Drink beer and smoke your pipes of clay 

Ye Germans, through the year, 
But have a care you do not lay 

Your clay upon a hier. 

Ye nice young men who pray for hair 

On lip and cheek and throat, 
A shai'p young man can shave himself, 
A sharper shaves a note. 

Ye lawyers who beginning are 

In Blackstone read, refrain ! 
Don't drink in too much at the Bar, 

For 'twill confuse the brain. 

Ye Doctors, ye must patient be 

To cure your patients'' ills; 
Or patient patients you will see 

Impatient of their bills. 

To all jfian kind, a kind man should 

Be honest, just and true. 
Do unto others as you would 

That men should do to you. 

This ode was followed by tremendous tears, and as Dean 
of such a college, I felt the weight of the responsibility was al- 
most more than I could carry, and so, with tremulous steps, 
made the best of my way homeward. As I passed the flicker- 
ing lamps, my mind became more and more bewildered at my 
position. It was with difficulty that I could find my own home, 
indeed I lost the whole recollection of my whereabouts, and 



112 



THE GRAND EASTER CELEBRATION. 



was only restored to my consciousness of material things by 
severe pain. I found myself before my own door, endeavoring 
to insert my night-key into my left eye, having mistaken the 
organ of vision for the key-hole. 

If our college prospers you shall hear more from 

The Dean. 







AN EQUINOCTIAL EPISODE. 

" If not in reason, why incrambo rhyme." 

Geo. Colem.\n, (the younger.) 



The clouds are flying, and 'tis damp, 
And ever and anon, the rain 
Is telling on my windo^^■-pane 
Of influenza and of cramp. 

Of sniflies, and those things, 
Which dampness brings — 
Humanity 's worst foes — 
A headache, and unruly nose. 

I 'm sitting in my office, and I sweor, 

I do n't know what to do ; 

Besides, I 'm blue; 
For me, a thing most rare. 

My fire 's out, I 'm growing cold. 
And have an indigestion ; 

Can any one a cure unfold ? 
Or a suggestion, 
By which to make one's fluids work. 
On pie like putty, or on rolls like cork ? 

I 've tried to read the last gazette of fashion. 

But couldn't do it; 
It put me in a most infernal passion — 

So, down I threw it. 



[14 AN EQUINOXIAL EPISODE. 

And, reader, would you knqw the reason why ? 

I '11 tell you ; or at all events, I '11 try : 

The country 's filled with "papers" mean and foul, 
Disowned by science and devoid of sense, 
But greedily perused at the expense 

Of taste, good morals or a noble soul. 

Our stomachs over-fed, grow sick and sour. 

And ever crave a more unwholesome diet, 
The mind depraved will greedily devour 
The yilest trash — you can't deny it. 
The masses learn to love these tales of wonder, 
And read, and read, and read — in fine. 
They worship at the shrine 
Of Blood and Thunder. 

Each day some periodic paper starts. 

Which, (as per editorial), we see. 
Will be devoted to the sciences and arts, 

Fine literature and grave morality. 
Besides all this, the fashions will be seen. 

Portraits and poetry, and pictures too ; 

In short, this wonderful ragout 
For reason's feast, is termed " A Magazine." 

It has some ornate scroll-work at its head, 

A worn-out wood-cut of some man who's dead. 

Who lived a life of glory. 
A railroad accident or two, 
A tale of blood that thrills you through. 

And then a woman 's story. 
And then — but stop, now just to cut a caper 

I '11 dish one up — behold! a paper : 



The Pantheon. 






(Chaste scroll-work for the Heading.) 

Devoted to science, literature, arts, belles-lettres, music, politics, religion, 
amusements, advertisements, and stories of all kinds — A Family- 
newspaper — no household can exist peaceably without it. 



■VOIj- I. 



2sro. 2. 



OUR PORTRAIT GALLERY. 



PORTRAIT OF SUNSET COX. 



PORTRAIT OF " CESAR." 




PORTRAIT OF KOULI KHAN. (fROM THE GRANT HIPPODROME.) 



ii6 The Pantheon. — Second Page. 

THE POET'S CORNER. 

Lines suggested by the present successful operation of the New York 
and Brooklyn Bridge. 



E. R. 



ENGLISH IAMBICS.—" THE BLOODY WIG." 
"Come, Tragic Muse, in tattered vest arrayed. 

And while through blood and mud and crimes I wade, 
Support my steps and this my strain inspire, 

With honor's blackest thoughts and bluest fire." 

Blood. 



THE IMMORTAL SNOOKS. 

"What ! foiuid at midnight, with a lantern lit, 

A bull-dog, jemmj^, screw and centre-bit. 

And tongueless of thine aim ! It cannot be 

That thou are bent — at least on felony ! 

He stands remanded — Ho ! Policeman A I ! 

His worship gave the word, and Snooks was borne away." 

Thunder. 



OUR NOVELLETTE. 



THEJ|LOVING LOVER'S LIFETIME. 
By Mrs. C. O. P. Y. Hence. 



CHAPT. MDX. 



THE PARTING. 

John, Farewell forever ! oh ! forever farewell ! farewell forever ! farewell! 
farewell ! John ! 

[To be continued.] 



I 



TALES OF MY GRANDFATHER. 

NEW SERIES. 



The Pantheon. — Third Page. 



117 




THE LATE TERRIBLE RAILROAD DISASTER. 



THE EYE APPALLING AND TEAR-COMPELLING SPECTACLES WITNESSED 
BY OUR REPORTER. 



J 



REMAINS OF THE CONDUCTOR. 



l3 




HIS BIOGRAPHY- AND HIS FRIENDS. 



ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. 

A'. — The answer to the arithmetical problem propounded in your epistle 
is : 2. The question being rendered 1x1=2. 

i?. 6".— We cannot tell. 

C. — We do not know. 

Brutus. — The Roman monosyllable "est" when translated can be 
rendered " is," being the third person singular of the verb " sum — I am," 
which by transposition and periphrastic conjugation forins the phrase lat- 
terly introduced nito the highest circles of society, viz., "I am sum" 
(some). The final word in the sentence referring to the vegetable pumpkins. 

Camille. — We do not know. Can any of our readers inform us where the 
line belongs : 

" Be it ever so humble there 's no place like home." 

Citizen. — We are not aware. 

>A;^.— Pitch in. 

Abegale Ann. — John Milton was brother-in-law to Shakspeare, and by his 
sister's wife second cousin to Oliver Cromwell, who was beheaded in the 
Tower, 



The Pantheon. — Fourth' Page. 



Doctors in consultation on the case of Mr. O'Conor. 




Second stated account of the disbursement of the public funds — from 
authentic sources. 



SONG. 
I'vi sitting OH the 'style' Mary." 



THE "style." 



1,500,000. 

The number of copies of The Pantheon said to have been sold in 
2 min. 30 sec. 



The spot where this immense amount ould be placed. 



Emblematic figure representing the future success of the periodical. 



FINIS. 



But reader you are tired, so am I, 

You have m^^ periodical — Good bye. H. 



-o ^ ^/''^9.^'Ikp^^< \ 






A POTENT INJUNCTION. 

The following appeared in the New York Evening Post, during a late 
controversy between the schools of Medicine in Boston. 



Thd doctors in Boston, in conclave assembled, 

Embracing the learning and wisdom of time, 
Have shaken their heads, while society trembled. 

And asked in amazement, Ihe name of the crime 
That would throw sixty men from the arms of its shelter, 

Unheeding gray hair or an unspotted name ; 
Would cut them adrift, send them forth helter-skelter. 

In spite of position and honor aud fame. 

Now was it because in the treatment of cases 

They did not rely on the old " chlorid mit," 
Forsaking the lancet, yea, even in "stasis," 

Refusing to blister a man in a fit ? 
Had turpentine handed en masse to the painter. 

Had sent castor-oil to the wheelwright for use. 
While cries of the suf'ring grew fainter and fainter. 

Were these the foundations ? was this the excuse ? 

Th' expelling committee were perfect in knowledge ; 
Each hair was o'erflov.iniJ with science and art; 



20 A POTENT INJUNCTION. 

So they ostracized all who came out of the college, 
Who dared from their tenets or creeds to depart. 

They do not allow one to follow the guiding 
Of that he in conscieiice believes to be right ; 

At once they accuse him of fearful Ijacksliding, 
And quietly push him aside — out of sight. 

So, in council assembled, "the knights of the Iwlus," 

Neglecting their patients, their potions, their pills, 
Shut tightly the doors of their hall and each " solus'''' 

Resolved to expunge the society's ills. 
And now as their dignity proudly was swelling, 

So hapjDy in reaching their acme of bliss. 
The moment arrived for the wholesale expelling. 

When in walked the sheriff and said, " Sirs, read this. 

Oil then what a scene ! oh, what fearful grimaces 

Those doctors assumed, as their plans were all foiled, 
One would think as he look'd at their quizzical faces 

That each had in turn been right well castor-oiled; 
And never, while yet during lifetime a function 

Proceeds in their bodies or minds undisturbed, 
Will those doctors forget that most potent injunction,. 

The time nor the manner in which it was served. 




1^ LBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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